


Hunger of the Pine

by Lila82



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reimagined Canon, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 81,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>85 years after a nuclear war, Jake Griffin discovers that Earth is habitable and sets out to prove it.  He takes his daughter with him.  Clarke survives the trip and grows up Trigedakru.  She <i>becomes</i> Trigedakru.  But then, another dropship lands and she has to make a choice.  </p><p>Or, a reimagined version of seasons one and two where Clarke is raised on the ground and all roads still lead to Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rabbit in a Snowstorm

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s first memory – her first real memory – is the sun on her face. It’s bright, so she has to squint through the glare, but she can feel it, warm on her cheeks when she raises her face to the sky. It’s better than she ever imagined.

She takes a moment to enjoy it, but just one moment because she still needs to find her daddy. There’s blood in her eyes that makes it harder to see and her head hurts but she pushes to her knees and then to her feet. The dropship is on fire and she knows that she needs to get away from it. Her daddy is an engineer. She knows how things work. But she has to find him first.

It doesn’t take long. He’s in the grass a few meters away and lying on his back. “Hey there, kiddo,” he says. “Guess we made it.”

She kneels down beside him. “There’s a pole in your belly.”

He smiles and blood leaks from his mouth. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Clarke angrily brushes back tears. She rode in a dropship all the way to the ground. She’s not going to be a baby now. 

“Sing me a song. _All the Pretty Little Horses_ , sing it to me.”

She swallows her fear, the blood in her eyes and the blood staining her daddy’s shirt, and lifts her chin the way her mom always does before a council meeting. “Okay,” she says softly. “I can do that.” 

Gently, very gently, she rests her daddy’s head in her lap and brushes his hair from his forehead. She’s seen her mom do it a thousand times when he’s had a bad day and even with the pounding in her head, she remembers the steps. She hums until her daddy’s eyes close and his breath stops rattling in his chest, until he’s still in her arms with a hint of a smile on his face.

It’s how they find her, a little girl cradling her dead father under a bright summer sun, blood on her cheeks and tears in her eyes but courage in her heart. 

Gada slip daun kom skai, they call her. _The girl that fell from the sky._

 

* * *

 

They give her to Indra because she has a son the same age and because they think she’s the only one with any hope of turning the skai gada into a gona. Clarke’s first night, Indra watches her coolly. 

“Yu ste kwelen. Ai na teik yu yuj.”

Clarke stares at her blankly. “I don’t understand.

Indra jerks Clarke to her feet. “Who are you?”

“I’m Clarke Griffin.” 

Indra’s eyes narrow. “You are Trigedakru now. Here, you fight or you die.” 

She holds out a knife with a short blade that Clarke thinks will be sharp to the touch. She stares at it with wide eyes. At home, they lived off protein paste and recycled water. There was no need for knives outside Medical. It’s the first time she’s seen one up close. Indra makes a disgusted noise when she doesn’t take it, but Clarke has always been a quick learner, realizes this is her only chance. She’s only five and without Indra and her people, she won’t survive. She wants to live. Before Indra can pull her hand back, Clarke snatches the knife out of her grip and holds it in front of her. 

“I fight.”

A hint of a smile curves Indra’s mouth. “You’re not as weak as I thought.” She takes back the knife and sheathes it in her belt. “Go to sleep. Your training begins at first light.”

Clarke’s bed is a lumpy mattress but she obediently crawls beneath the ragged blanket and closes her eyes. Sleep doesn’t come. She can’t stop thinking about her mom. She didn’t make it on the dropship, doesn’t know they landed. Her mom probably thinks she’s dead. 

Tears burn her eyes and she curls into herself, buries her wet cheeks in the scratchy pillow. She waits for Indra to sing her a song or brush a kiss over her forehead, but when she opens her eyes, the tent is empty. 

She’s completely alone. It’s her first lesson on the ground; she never forgets.

 

* * *

 

They give her to Nyko.

Clarke trips over a rock and slashes a gash across her knee, tears a hole in her pants too. It hurts but it’s not bleeding much and she pauses behind the latrines, tries to figure out what to do. Her mom always cleaned her cuts with rubbing alcohol and a kiss, but they don’t have those things here. They do have water and bandages, and she quietly wipes down the wound with boiled water and wraps it up, tries to hide the damage before Indra sees. The warrior woman already thinks that Clarke is weak and she doesn’t want to give her an actual reason. Still, Indra spots the tear in her pants and then her secret’s out. 

“Who did this?” Indra demands and examines the wound. Her touch isn’t gentle like Clarke’s mom’s and it makes Clarke wince.

“I did,” she says and raises her chin. She keeps her eyes on Indra, even though she expects the other woman to slap her across the face for ripping her pants.

“Come with me,” Indra says instead. 

Clarke follows her to a small hut with dried leaves hanging from the ceiling and clay pots all along the walls. There’s a man too, bigger than her daddy, with dark, tangled hair and tattoos on his arms. Clarke hides behind the door while Indra and the man talk, eyeing the enormous pot hanging over the fire. It reminds her of the stories her mom used to read before bed, witches and wolves and breadcrumbs to mark the trail home. She isn’t sure if the man will give her candy or boil her for his dinner. 

Indra tugs her inside. “ Yu na laik fisa.” _You will be a healer_.

The huge man crouches down and Clarke boldly meets his gaze. She knows better than to let him see any weakness, but when he looks at her, his eyes are kind. “Heya. Ai laik Naiko. Os hit yu op.” _Hello. My name is Nyko. It’s nice to meet you._

Tentatively, Clarke smiles at him, feels like she can breathe for the first time since her daddy buckled her into the dropship. It’s not the free air, even she knows that. It’s someone being kind to her. It’s someone reminding her that she matters.

 

* * *

 

She gives herself to Kolya.

It’s the easiest choice she’s ever made.

He has skin the color of her daddy’s coffee after he’s mixed in the powdered milk and eyes the same shade as Wells’, a deep dark brown that reminds her of fresh soil beneath her toes. The earth is not just their home but also their responsibility. She’s learned these things from Nyko. Without it they will die and they must always protect it. 

“Ai laik Koalya,” Kolya says when she comes back from gathering roots and finds a strange boy in her tent, shoulders straight like a warrior even though they’re the same age. She knows he’s Indra’s son – she can see it in the familiar shape of his eyes and slant of his nose – but she’s not sure how she should act around him. She lowers her eyes and studies the ground, gives him the respect she assumes he deserves. It was always how she greeted the chancellor back on the Ark; it can’t hurt to try it here.

Kolya surprises her, takes her hands and grips them in his. “Yu laik nu sis.” _You are my new sister_.

“Ai laik Klark,” she says in halting Trigedasleng that makes Kolya laugh. 

“You have much to learn,” he says in English and grabs her hand, pulls her out of the tent and towards the cook fire. “I am hungry.”

With Kolya’s help, she chooses a piece of roasted meat and manages to swallow it without wanting to throw up. She’s growing used to the strange food, just like she’s learning a strange language and living in a strange land.

She looks at Kolya, eating his dinner with smiling eyes that remind her of Wells’, and for a moment, this place doesn’t feel so strange. Maybe if she’s lucky, one day, it might feel like home.

 

* * *

 

Clarke spends the winter waiting.

There were no seasons on the Ark, just endless months of climate-controlled air, and she isn’t prepared for the weather to change. She doesn’t know to wear a sweater or thicker socks, but Kolya doesn’t mock or tease, only helps her find her way through a world she doesn’t understand. 

She’s with Indra three months when the air grows colder. The days get shorter and the nights get longer and one morning she pushes open the flap to their tent and all she can see is white. 

She stands in the doorway and watches the flakes fall lazily from the sky, layer upon layer of bright, icy white. Kolya comes up behind her and stares into the yard.

“Snow,” he says slowly and she repeats the word. She opens her mouth to the sky and the snowflakes melt on her tongue.

“Come,” Kolya says and tugs on her hand. “I will teach you how to build a snowman.”

It’s the first of many snowmen they build that long winter. In tonDC, there’s always work to be done, but every now and then, Indra remembers that they’re children and lets them build forts from the packed ice and carve angels in the endless fields of snow.

One night, Clarke stares up at the sky and watches the stars, quickly finds the Big Dipper before moving onto Gemini. Kolya has been teaching her the stars and she’s excited to find the twins on her first try. Castor and Pollux, she remembers, one mortal and one born of the gods, but it never dimmed their love for each other. In the sky, she had a brother of her heart, a loyal friend that chased her through the halls and brought her art supplies from the market. She’d once heard her mom say Wells went without dessert for an entire month just to buy her a single crayon. 

Thinking about Wells makes the tears come again, makes the stars shimmer so they’re a glittery blur against the dark sky. He’s up in that sky, in the Ark with his dad and her mom and all the people she’s ever known. Her eyes burn from trying to hold back her tears. 

She wonders if she’ll see anyone she loves again.

 

* * *

 

They let her keep her father’s watch. 

“From your nontu,” Indra had said and thrust a flaming torch into Clarke’s hand, cocked her head at the pile of branches and twigs in the center of the yard. 

A small group of Tree People were there too, with heads bowed out of respect for the dead, because Clarke’s daddy was lying at the center of the pile. He was wearing a new shirt and had symbols painted on his face, but he was still her daddy, even with his eyes closed. He’d looked calm and happy, like when her mom would sneak up behind him to give him a kiss. Clarke was glad that the pole wasn’t in his stomach anymore, that there wasn’t any blood at all.

She’d followed Indra’s lead and touched the torch to the branches, watched the fire get bigger and bigger, so big that the only thing left of her daddy was ash and dust. She’d cried a little but Indra hadn’t yelled and Kolya had let her rest her head on his shoulder. They let her have an extra ration that day at lunch too.

She cares for the watch like it’s the Eden Tree, even though there are trees everywhere she looks. The Eden Tree was the most important thing on the Ark, the only piece of the earth they had left. 

It’s too big for her wrist so she wears it around her neck, tucked close to her heart where her daddy still lives. Her daddy and her mom and Wells and the life she used to have. She has her memories and no one can take them from her.

 

* * *

 

The days grow longer and Clarke stops searching the sky. It’s been months and no dropships have come. Her mom, Wells – they think she’s dead. No matter how long she waits, no one is looking for her. 

The night of the first thaw, Kolya pulls her into a dance and patiently teaches her the steps. It involves something called a grapevine and skipping in circles and she lets herself go, long braids whipping around her face. 

This is her life now and all she can do is live it.

 

* * *

 

Days turn into months turn into years and Clarke throws herself into becoming a _fisa_. A healer. There are daily weapons training sessions with Indra, but she spends most of her time with Nyko learning the names of plants and roots and weeds and shrubs, practices her letters in the hard packed dirt of his hut. She would have started kindergarten the year she fell from the sky, learned her letters on a tablet she’d charge beside her bed each night. Few Trigedakru can read and write – it’s a useless skill in a world without a written language – but Nyko insists she learn so she can identify the pots of herbs and potions, label the drawings in her journal. It’s hard work without books or paper but she pushes through. It’s one more thing that links her to the girl she used to be.

One morning she wakes up and can’t remember her mom’s face. It makes her heart pound against the watch she still wears around her neck. Indra has been good to her, kept her clothed and fed and taught her to wield a spear with deadly accuracy, but she’s not her mom. Her mom is dark hair and warm eyes and a gentle voice singing her sleep. Her mom is in the sky and she’s forever trapped down here. 

But that afternoon, when she’s practicing an incision on a hunk of boar meat, she sees her mom in the careful motions of her hands. She sees her mom in all the lessons she’s learned, to slice people open and sew them back together, to hold a blood vessel between her fingers and stop a bleed with homemade clamps. She sees her mom everywhere in Nyko’s hut.

After work, Clarke looks at the stars and realizes how wrong she’s been. Her mom is in the sky and she’s down here, but it doesn’t mean she can’t carry her with her.

 

* * *

 

She’s ten when she meets Lincoln. 

He’s fifteen, almost a man grown, when he pokes a shaved head into the medical hut and says her name.

“Klark kom Trigedakru,” he says in a low growl. “I hear that you draw.”

She stares at him wide-eyed. She’s heard of Linkon kom Trigedakru. He was born in tonDC, but after his parents died, raised by his mother’s people by the sea. He’s only recently returned to train as a _gona_ amongst his father’s kru. None of this is news, but his knowledge of her art is worrisome. Indra has little patience for hobbies and she’s made her preferences known. It worries Clarke how Lincoln knows her secret.

He smiles and opens his hands to show that he holds no weapons, that he means no harm. “Nyko is my friend and he told me of your skill.” Slowly, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small book filled with a series of crude drawings. “I am hoping you can teach me.”

Lincoln is even bigger than Nyko but his eyes are also gentle, so Clarke smiles shyly and pulls her sketchbook out of its hiding place. “What do you want to learn first?”

They start with trees and rivers, lakes and streams, the mountain looming dark and sinister in the distance, and when they’ve sketched Lincoln’s world in charcoal, they move onto hers. She shows him a moonrise and a solar flare, the mess hall and med-bay and little apartment that was her home.

Remembering her old life doesn’t make her cry anymore but it still makes her chest ache thinking of her mom alone in that apartment, always wondering and never knowing what happened to her family.

“I left my people too,” Lincoln says, eyes fierce with solidarity, and some of the ache eases. It’s easier, knowing she isn’t the only one that feels this way.

“You’re my people now,” she says and beneath the drying herbs, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and cloves, she feels a little more like she’s home.

 

* * *

 

Clarke sees Polis for the first time the year she and Kolya turn twelve.

There’s a yearly gathering of the ten Trigedakru clans and Indra finally agrees to bring them, rolls her eyes at the squeals that fill their tent, but when she ruffles their hair on her way to sword practice, Clarke knows she’s pleased.

The journey is long and hot, mosquitos buzzing and sweat matting her hair to the back of her neck, but Clarke doesn’t mind. For five years her world was a metal box, and since, she’s only seen a mile or two beyond tonDC’s borders. Purple frogs dart across the path and the trees have pink leaves, bright red squirrels scampering up their trunks. At night, she sketches beneath a half-moon, a sea of glowing insects swarming around her head. Kolya keeps lookout but Clarke thinks even Indra wouldn’t care. It’s summer and their people are at peace and Polis is less than a day’s ride away. Life is good.

The capital comes upon them without warning, an urban sprawl at war with the encroaching forest. tonDC is a huddle of thatched roof huts and pine log storehouses, but Polis still clings to the old world. The buildings are made of metal and concrete, like the picture books the Wells' dad would read to the children on the Ark, and there are burned out shells of automobiles lining the broad roads. She stares open-mouthed as Indra leads their small party into the heart of the city. 

It’s there that she meets the Heda.

Clarke has heard of Leksa kom Trigedakru her entire time on the ground: the breaker of ice, the leader to rule them all. She expects a mighty woman but the Commander is a girl with bright eyes and an impish smile. She’s Clarke’s age, maybe a year older, and while she understands the grave responsibilities resting on her shoulders, she can’t quite hide the twinkle in her eye. 

She steps forward when Indra presents her children, a red-haired girl trailing behind her. Clarke will later learn that the girl's name is Costia, the Heda’s most trusted attendant, and then, so much more. 

“Heya, Indra,” Lexa says. “Chon laik goufas?”

Indra pushes her son forward with a grunt. “Ai non, Koalya.” Clarke steps forward without prompting. “Ai nona, Klark.”

The second name piques Lexa’s interest. “I’ve heard of you, Klark kom Skaikru –”

“Trigedakru,” Clarke interrupts. “Ai kom Trigedakru.”

For a moment the world stops, a hush falling over the court as they wait for the Heda’s reaction, but Lexa doesn’t slap Clarke for her insolence or remove her from the hall. She nods slightly, admitting her mistake. “I’ve heard of you Klark kom _Trigedakru_ ,” she says. “You have much skill as a fisa.”

Clarke manages to meet the Heda’s eyes while her cheeks flame with embarrassment. Later, Indra will probably kill her and she’ll deserve it. She and Kolya begged for weeks to attend this meeting. They’ve been here three hours and she’s already humiliated her family. “Nyko is a good teacher.”

“Come,” Lexa says. “We have much to discuss.”

Clarke can feel Indra’s eyes on her as she exits the hall with Lexa and her entourage, dark eyes boring into the back of her skull, pleading for her daughter to remember her manners, to remember her place. Clarke tells Lexa of how she arrived on the earth and her life in tonDC. She’s more vigilant with her answers than before, choosing her words carefully and never saying more than necessary. Costia keeps their wine cups close to overflowing but Clarke manages to keep her wits about her. 

She wakes the next morning with a pounding headache and eyelids that feel like sand is trapped underneath them, but Indra isn’t glaring at her. Clarke learns that Lexa has offered her a place in her inner circle when she comes of age, a great honor for a girl that wasn’t born Trikru.

“You did well,” Indra says and brushes a quick kiss over Clarke’s cheek. 

They don’t talk about it again, but Clarke feels the press of Indra’s lips long after they’ve returned home. It reminds her of her mom. It makes her think she’s finally found someone to fill that empty place in her heart.

 

* * *

 

She loses her virginity when she’s fourteen. 

Penn is her age, tall and muscled, and he’s been giving her looks across the campfire for the better part of a year. Clarke knows what those looks mean and she doesn’t understand the big deal. Sex is a natural part of life amongst their people and one night they share a cup of dandelion wine for courage and get down to seeing what the big deal is about.

Clarke doesn’t get it. It’s awkward and painful and over practically before it starts. Penn lies next to her on the blanket, panting heavily and staring at the woven branches that make up their roof.

“Good, right?” he asks but Clarke doesn’t answer, stares at the ceiling and hopes they did it wrong. What happened couldn’t be all there is to it.

The next morning, Indra shakes her awake before dawn and pushes a steaming cup of tea in her face. “Drink,” she orders, lips pressed together so tight they’re practically white.

Clarke’s a woman grown, a healer in the service of the Heda. She’s too old to be taking orders. But she’s apparently not too old to fear the knowing look in Indra’s eyes. She reaches for the cup and gingerly takes a sip. The tea is hot and bitter and burns her tongue, but she’s a healer – she knows better than to stop drinking. Indra watches her until the cup is empty in her hand.

“You are too young,” Indra says.

Clarke bristles at being told what to do. “I can make my own decisions.”

Indra’s jaw tightens. “Do you want a goufa?”

Clarke suddenly doubts herself. She understands where babies come from, but it never crossed her mind that it could happen to her. “No,” she says softly. “I just wanted to see what it was like.” She can’t hide her grimace. “You don’t have to worry. It wasn’t worth repeating.”

Indra’s expression softens and she takes Clarke’s hands in hers. “I was once young and felt the same, but I grew up and I learned. It’s fine to be curious, but it’s better to be prepared. Many things can happen when you are not ready. You could get a disease or suffer a broken heart. You could die.” She holds up the cup. “Do you understand?”

Clarke thinks she does. Not why the sex was so bad, but why she shouldn’t have done it. She doesn’t care about Penn beyond a fond affection. She isn’t ready for a baby, and she doesn’t want to die bearing one. So much could have gone wrong and she never thought about the consequences. “I understand.”

Indra smiles, a rare smile that takes years off her face, and wraps Clarke in a tight hug. She’s never felt closer to her.

 

* * *

 

The year she turns sixteen, a horse arrives in Polis bearing Costia’s body, her head stowed in a saddlebag and the Ice Clan’s sigil carved into her spine. She was born in tonDC and her grieving mother wants her buried amongst her ancestors. Clarke stands in the yard between Indra and Kolya to watch the Heda burn her heart. Her dad’s watch feels impossibly heavy on her wrist.

Gone is the girl the commander was, leaving a hard-eyed woman in her place. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” Lexa says softly and the village responds to her call. Mourners have come from all ten villages for Costia’s funeral and their yells fill the yard. To Clarke, it sounds very much like a war cry. 

“It is a sad day,” Indra says, eyes never leaving the burning pyre. “When we fear our own more than Maunon.” 

Clarke shivers even though it’s the dead of summer.

 

* * *

 

The world changes. 

The Mountain grows bolder and the Trigedakru grow stronger. 

Lexa is ruthless and inexhaustible, and before the year is done, there are twelve clans united under her sword. 

They celebrate the Winter Solstice with a melee and war games and Clarke watches the festivities with a heavy heart.

She was born into a world forged by war. She didn’t fall from the sky to live it all over again.

 

* * *

 

There’s a story that Penn’s Aunt Kima tells around the campfire.

Clarke heard it her first night in camp, beneath a blanket of stars that shone so much brighter from the ground. Kima was young, but gifted with a song for her voice, and most nights she held court by the fire, her voice lilting and musical as she spun tales that were nearly lost to the wars. 

_“They were awakened by the light of the falling stars. And they ran out into the false day and were terrified. They thought the world was coming to an end. They took the falling stars as a sign. It was an omen and bad things followed. From that day forward, they knew nothing but sorrow.”_

Kima tells the story again on a late summer night, with fireflies dancing though the muggy air and laughter riding on the breeze. There’s wine and song but when Kima speaks, everyone falls silent. 

_“You can imagine something like that happening directly overhead, this havoc in the sky,”_ she says, eyes deeply shadowed by the dull light of the fire. _“It became part of their blood memory, the winter when the stars fell from the sky.”_

In the distance the mountain roars and then the alarm sounds, a low, throaty warning that has the village scrambling underground. Clarke sits with Kolya in a corner of Nyko’s root cellar, knees pulled tight to her chest while a shower of fire and brimstone falls from the sky.

 

* * *

 

That night, a star falls from the Ark. It brings nothing but sorrow.


	2. Shadows in the Glass: Part I

 

* * *

 

A red horse arrives bearing a rider from the Falls. 

His mask is a grotesque crow, with beady eyes and a twisted beak, and Clarke feels him watching her as he trots into the yard. The people of tonDC have nearly forgotten she wasn’t born on the ground, but strangers see her as just that. Foreign. Different. _Strange_. 

Indra’s eyes flash, but she orders the gonas to lower their spears. “Heya,” she calls out.

The rider removes his mask to reveal dark hair and an arrogant grin. “Heya, Indra,” he says in return. “Anya sen op ai.” His grin widens slightly. “Yu kru kamp raun kom em komba raun." _Your people stay until she comes._

Indra hisses slightly but doesn’t argue, gestures to her attendants to bring the rider food and water. Damon, Clarke thinks his name is. She’s not fond of Anya or her kru. Indra is the heda of tonDC but Anya is the _heda_ of the southern Trikru, and her authority supersedes all others’. Indra is a strong warrior, but she’s also a loyal soldier and she falls in line, even if she doesn’t like it. It’s a quality that Clarke admires and loathes in equal measure. She understands the need for order in their world, but she believes that every voice should be heard. It was her dad’s dream, why he died bringing her to the ground, to build something new out of the ashes of what they used to have. 

The village watches Damon warily but goes about its business, including Kolya. He has guard duty that morning and Indra sends him off within ten minutes of Damon’s arrival.

“I should be here,” he protests. He’s seventeen and eager for battle, to put a braid in his hair to commemorate his first kill. The last thing he wants is to spend the day watching the west bank of the river. 

Indra fixes him with her iciest glare. “Ste un gona,” she says and gives him a shove for good measure. Kolya sulks, but does as he’s asked, disappears into the trees with his spear and canteen. Indra turns her stare to Clarke, and while she doesn’t say anything, Clarke can hear her words loud and clear. 

“I’ll check on him,” Clarke says, catches Indra’s nod as she hurries to their tent to grab her pack. 

She finds Kolya by the river, moodily staring at the rocks lining the shallow bank and drumming the shaft of his spear against the dirt. Clarke whistles twice to let him know that she’s coming and sits down beside him. 

“Did she send you?”

“I volunteered.”

“Doesn’t even trust me to stay on my post.”

Clarke knows better than to touch him when he’s angry, stares at the water instead. The current is higher than usual and the occasional bit of white water roils every now and then. The star has upset the balance of more than the woods. “I wanted to be there too, but we all have a job to do. Someone always needs to watch the river. You know that.”

He sighs, the fight gone out of him. “I know. It’s just…something fell from the sky and Anya’s coming!” 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She’s far more interested in the dropship than the Falls’ heda. “We’ll know what it is soon enough.” 

“Will you stay?” Kolya looks at her from beneath heavy lashes, practically bats them at her. 

Clarke rolls her eyes this time and lightly lobs a pebble at him. “You don’t have to beg. You know I won’t leave you.”

He loosely wraps an arm over her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. “Good. Because I might need a nap.” She lobs another rock at him.

The morning passes. Clarke draws and practices her sutures on a length of twine. She needs to keep busy, to keep from thinking about the dropship. She can’t let herself hope that her mom was on it; she can’t let herself hope that she wasn’t. Kolya sits ramrod straight beside her, spear in hand and eyes locked on the river. Nothing changes, but they still wait.

It’s midday when they hear the voices and wordlessly exchange a look, Kolya drawing back his spear while Clarke takes out her knife. She knows they’re from the dropship. Their voices are loud and carefree; they’re making no attempt to hide their approach. They see them soon, a girl and three boys, laughing as they tie together a rope. It’s immediately clear what they’re going to do but it happens too fast for Clarke to call out a warning. One of the boys takes the rope and swings, neatly lands on her side of the river. 

Kolya’s spear flies. He didn’t mean to throw it, but there was no way to avoid it. It’s in his blood – in both of their blood – to keep trespassers away. They’ve been trained since birth to protect their village. Throwing the spear is as natural as breathing.

“Branwada,” he curses, watches the boy fall as his friends scatter.

Clarke hears their screams, “They shot him! Oh my god! Run, everyone RUN!” 

She watches helplessly as they scatter into the trees. “Casus belli,” she mumbles under her breath. _Cause of war_. Their first interaction with the survivors shouldn’t have happened this way.

At her side, Kolya is shaking. He’s also realized his mistake, what it could cost his village, his people, and he turns to Clarke with pleading eyes. “What do we do?”

Clarke takes a breath and surveys the damage. The boy is lying twenty meters away with a spear in his chest, but he’s still alive. She can hear the painful rattle of his breath. If they can heal him, they can fix this. “Help me build a travois.”

It’s almost sundown when they drag the boy to Nyko’s hut. The spear is still in his chest but the bleeding has stopped and while his pulse is slow, it’s steady beneath Clarke’s fingers. She thinks he has a chance. Nyko doesn’t ask questions, just orders Kolya to saw off the spear and for Clarke to prepare his instruments. She washes her hands and helps Nyko remove the spear, holds blood vessels and inserts clamps and stitches the incision together with a thin piece of wire. They pack the wound with yarrow paste and stare at their patient. He’s pale and slightly feverish, but alive. Clarke still can’t believe they pulled it off.

“When can we move him?” she asks.

Nyko stares at the boy dispassionately. “As soon as possible. You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

Kolya looks at her helplessly and Clarke sends him a meaningful look, hopes he listens and pulls himself together. “I’ll talk to Indra.”

“The entire village saw you drag him in,” Nyko says. “Anya’s had a guard outside the door for the last thirty minutes. She wants to see you.”

Clarke washes the blood from her hands and takes a deep breath before opening Nyko’s door. 

Damon and two masked warriors are waiting and they wordlessly escort her and Kolya to the meeting hall. Anya looks less than happy to see them. “You were to wait for my command.”

Kolya raises his chin the way Clarke taught him. “He crossed the river. I was defending our territory.”

Anya looks to Clarke. “But you brought him here.”

“They don’t know our ways. I thought if we saved his life, they would see it as a peace offering.” 

Anya’s eyes narrow. “You don’t make those decisions.”

Clarke looks to Indra for guidance, but her face is unreadable. “You’re right, heda,” Clarke says. Even without words, she knows the advice Indra would give: fall in line, serve your heda, do not challenge your own. “I should not have interfered.”

Anya nods, satisfied, but the interrogation isn’t over. “You were born Skaikru.”

“Yes, heda. Many years ago. But I am Trigedakru now.” She pushes up her sleeve to show the caduceus inked into the skin of her wrist. “Ai laik a fisa.” 

The other woman’s stare is long and accusing and Clarke tamps down the urge to look away. Anya’s stare is unnerving, but Clarke did nothing wrong. She saved the boy’s life to avoid a war and no more. She won’t let allow her to doubt herself. 

“You will take him back,” Anya finally says and Clarke nods, lets out a relieved breath. “Let them see what happens if they cross the Trigedakru.”

“Yes, heda,” Clarke repeats and bows her head out of respect. She leaves quickly before Anya changes her mind. 

The boy is sleeping peacefully and his fever has dimmed slightly. She looks at Nyko. “We leave a first light.”

He sighs tiredly. “I’ll have him ready.”

Clarke rests her head on the boy’s thin chest, listens to the weak beat of his heart beneath the flesh she stitched back together. Anya’s accusation weighs heavy on her mind. It’s more than the stitches that she needs to hold.

 

* * *

 

Dawn breaks and the boy is still breathing. 

Clarke and Kolya load him onto the travois and take him across the river. It’s slow work dragging his dead weight, but they get him to the designated spot by midday. She’s sure to check his pulse before they tie him to the tree and it’s still somewhat faint, but steady. She packs more yarrow into the wound for good measure. 

Lincoln took a scouting party out the day before and Kolya is anxious to get home to attend the debriefing. Clarke wants to know too, but not before collecting more echinacea. It has a limited growing season and she knows a flowering patch not far away. Kolya drags his feet as he follows behind her, but keeps his knife in hand just in case. 

“Teik’s go.” He looks around nervously. It’s quiet in this portion of the forest. Maybe too quiet.

Clarke’s just sliding on her pack when she hears it, a low growl that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

“Ripas,” Kolya whispers, gestures at Clarke to start moving. “Run!” 

They take off into the woods, a pack of snarling cannibals on their heels. They run together but the Reapers are surprisingly clever, circling around them so they’re trapped in a small clearing. Clarke can practically feel their breath on her face, their jagged teeth ripping into the column of her throat. A tree bumps painfully against her head. She takes Kolya’s hand.

“At my signal, run.”

“No – ” she tries, but he cuts her off.

“You’re a healer, Clarke. They need you more than me.”

“Kolya – ”

He squeezes her hand. “Ste ai nomon op daun ai hod em in.” _Tell my mother that I love her._

Clarke doesn’t have time to argue because then he’s screaming, his war cry piercing the air, and she’s running, so far and so fast that her feet barely touch the ground. Her pack bounces against her back and her braids whip around her face and her lungs ache, burn with the fight to _survive_ , but she runs. Runs until the ground disappears beneath her and she isn’t running anymore because she’s falling, falling, falling.

She grasps for purchase and digs her fingers into the lip of a baga trap. It’s almost funny, that she got away from Reapers only die in a pit her people use to capture enemies. But it isn’t funny because she’s halfway to dead. The pack drags her down but she can’t take it off, not with the dirt crumbling beneath her hands. She digs her toes into the walls, but she can feel her fingers slipping, body inching closer to the sharpened spikes lining the bottom of the pit. She’s seen the damage those spikes can cause and it makes her fight harder. 

A hand wraps around her wrist, long, tapered fingers that flex with strength. “Pull her up,” a deep voice orders. There’s a slight tug and then they’re dragging her up the wall. She hears heavy breathing and she knows something about pulling dead weight, kicks up the wall to ease the burden. 

It’s awkward when they pull her onto solid ground, with the pack poking into her back and the late afternoon sun glaring angry and bright into her eyes, and she takes a long minute just to _breathe_. She’s _alive_. She’s alive and Kolya’s almost certainly dead. She shoots to her feet and brushes her hair from her eyes to take stock of her surroundings. She’s a three-hour walk from tonDC and would rather not travel at night, but it can’t be avoided. Indra needs to know what happened to her son.

The whispers surround her. “She’s one of them!” “She’s going to kill us too!” 

“No one’s dying today.” Clarke recognizes the voice, a low, deep rumble. He’s the one that saved her life. She raises her eyes to meet his and they’re dark and blazing, set in a face with freckles sprinkled across his cheeks like stars in the sky. He regards her steadily, lifts one corner of his shirt to reveal the gun tucked into his pants. His skin is smooth and gold all over. “I got this covered.”

He reaches for her, but Clarke is Trigedakru and she’s quicker, pulls the knife from her boot and slashes it across his bare forearm. He howls and releases her, staggers back towards his people while she takes off into the forest. This time she knows the way, doesn’t stop running until she’s at tonDC’s gate.

Indra is waiting for her. She doesn’t say anything or stand up but Clarke can see it when Indra looks behind her for Kolya. “Ripas,” Clarke says and watches Indra’s face close in on itself. Without a word, she gets up and pushes through the flap of the tent, disappears into the night. Clarke lets her go, gives her space to mourn. They left her alone her first weeks in camp. She owes her nomon the same. She also does her best to straighten up. She lights the fire and turns down Indra’s bed, starts on Kolya’s before she remembers. Kolya is dead; he’s dead because of her. She drops to her knees and cries into her hands. There’s no one left to comfort her. It’s the first lesson she learned on the ground.

Later that night, she goes to the bathing pool to wash away the day’s ghosts. There’s dirt on her skin and leaves in her hair and she still hears Kolya’s screams in her head. “Run,” he’d said and she had, she’d run with speed she hadn't known that she’d possessed. She’d run and she’d left him behind. It will haunt her until the end of her days.

Indra is back when Clarke returns from the pool, her blanket pulled up over her head. It’s her signal that she doesn’t want to be disturbed and Clarke pads past her and rolls into her own bed. She’s halfway to sleep when Indra cries out, a loud, keening wail that seems even louder in their small tent. Under her blanket, her shoulders shake with sobs. There’s a good chance it will end with a punch to her face or scathing lecture, but Clarke risks Indra’s wrath, climbs into her nomon’s bed and curls into her back. It’s almost dawn when Indra sinks into sleep, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. 

Clarke teaches her a new lesson – she stays with her all night long.

 

* * *

 

The tent is too small. It was too small when it housed three people and it feels even smaller in Kolya’s absence. He might be gone but it’s filled with his things and the memories crowd around Clarke and take up all the space. She bursts from the tent to take deep, gulping breaths.

Her neighbors watch her warily and keep a distance. She doesn’t know if it’s the dropship or Kolya but they don’t look at her the same way. She feels like a stranger in her own home. 

Nyko crosses his arms as she rummages through the pots of medicines and herbs. “This is a bad idea.”

Clarke shoves a jar of powdered ginger into her pack. “I can’t stay here.”

“So you’ll go there?”

She raises her chin. “You’re not scolding Lincoln.” She’d heard the rundown at breakfast: lots of kids, no weapons, total chaos. No adults either. Anya had ridden out soon after. Clarke had felt her heart plummet into her chest. Whatever she would find at the dropship, her mom wouldn’t be part of it.

He sighs. “Linkon laik gona.” Clarke ignores him and adds garlic and chamomile to her pack. 

“I need to do something.” 

“Yu laik Klark kom Trigedakru.”

“Sha, ai laik. Ba ai laik em seintaim.” _But I’m them too._ “I need to know who I am."

Nyko presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Be careful.”

She smiles and straps on the pack. “I’ll be back by dark.” She pauses in the doorway. “You’ll look in on Indra? Make sure she eats?” Nyko grumbles but Clarke knows he’s good for it.

It’s not hard to find the dropship. The undergrowth is trampled and the Sky People Are making enough noise to be heard in the Dead Zone. Still, she approaches slowly. There’s a loose interpretation of a wall but no guards. She quickly scans the trees. No Trigedakru gonas either. 

She takes a deep breath and lets herself be seen. A cry erupts from within the wall but she holds her hands in the air and takes slow, mincing steps. She still has a knife in her boot but no other weapons. If they search her bag, they’ll find only medicines. She practiced her cover story on the walk over. She’s curious about these people, but not ready to reveal her true identity yet. Not until she gets a feel for who they are. _What_ they are. She doesn’t want to do anything to risk more bloodshed.

“It’s her!” someone yells. “The grounder girl!” 

Clarke manages to keep her expression neutral. _Grounder girl?_

Then, a knife at her throat. It’s actually a hatchet, but she won’t learn that until later. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she says and does her best not to swallow. The knife doesn’t move and she’s pulled tighter against a broad, solid chest. 

“You tried to kill Jasper.” That deep voice again. 

Jasper. The boy. She’s glad to hear that he’s still alive. “It was an accident. There’s medicine in my bag. I can help him.”

Clarke doesn’t like the boy assigned to check her pack. He has a hard beauty and she finds the look in his eyes to be unsettling. Predatory. He’d fit in well with the Azgeda. “She’s telling the truth.” The boy throws the pack back at her. “No reason we can’t kill her though.” He laughs and it sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine. 

“Not today, Murphy.” The knife drops from her neck and her captor lets her go. 

She’s struck again by how handsome he is, with that mess of dark hair and gleaming dark eyes. His arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest. “So you came to heal us.”

Clarke looks pointedly at the poorly bandaged cut on his forearm. “You did save my life. Thought I’d return the favor.”

“Who are you?”

“Klark,” she says, careful to draw out the single syllable. She doesn’t want them recognizing her yet. He doesn’t react and neither does the small crowd, so she presses forward. “You are?”

“Bellamy.” He gestures at a younger girl with long, dark hair. “You can start with her.” He stalks off towards a tent, his kru of lackeys following closely behind. Clarke’s glad to be rid of Murphy.

“I’m Octavia,” the girl says as she rolls up her pants leg. “Sorry about my brother. He’s power tripping today and it’s pretty unbearable for all of us.”

Clarke smiles as she examines the wound. “I have – ” She pauses and blinks back tears. “Brothers can be difficult.”

Octavia must sense her change in mood because she doesn’t ask more questions, just watches Clarke closely as she applies a yarrow paste and bandages the wound. “What’s it like growing up here?”

Clarke glances up from repacking her bag. “What do you mean?”

Octavia stretches her arms towards the sky. “All this air, all this space. It’s like paradise.” 

The ground saved her, but it also took so much from her, her dad and Costia and Kolya most of all. The best Clarke can manage is a small smile. “We take the good with the bad.” 

Octavia nods like she understands and maybe she does. Clarke knows nothing of her life. “I think you’re right.” She smiles brightly. “I’ll take you to Jasper.”

Clarke ignores the stares as Octavia leads her into the dropship, but she takes in every detail. It’s much larger than the one she took to the ground – three levels – but it brings back memories, especially when they climb to the second level and she spots a pile of seatbelts in the corner. It’s her last memory of her life before, her daddy buckling her into the dropship and telling her everything would be okay. Sometimes she thinks he’s right and at other times, couldn’t be more wrong. She sees Jasper writhing in pain and hopes it’s the former. 

Silence falls as Clarke follows Octavia onto the level. “This is Klark,” she says “She’s here to help.”

There are two others huddled by Jasper’s side, both male and both dark haired. One has shaggy hair and the other has floppy hair and it’s how she can tell them apart. 

“Can you save him?” Shaggy asks.

“I’m going to try.”

Carefully, she unwraps her own handiwork and examines the wound. It’s messy with pus and starting to smell. There’s no telling what was living on Kolya’s spearhead. Without additional help, he won’t make it through the night. 

“We need bloodroot,” she says. “It grows by the river and when brewed into a tea, will heal the infection.” She rewraps the wound and pushes to her feet. “We need to hurry.”

“I’m coming with you,” Shaggy tries, but Octavia stops him with a light touch on his arm. 

“We still need someone to work on the wristbands,” she reminds him. 

Floppy doesn’t say anything.

Jasper screams, loud and throaty and laced with pain, just as Bellamy pokes his head through the ladder hole. “The kid's a goner. If you can’t see that, you’re delusional.”

Clarke turns to face him and raises her chin. He’s bigger than her and taller than her, but he doesn’t know her. She’s not backing down. “I can help him but it requires additional herbs. I’m going to the river. Your sister and I will handle it.”

Octavia groans. “My sister stays here.” Bellamy glances at Floppy. “Take Finn. He’s a good tracker, helped us find Jasper.”

“That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy – ” Finn starts.

Clarke rolls her eyes and starts for the ladder. “I’ll go on my own.” 

Bellamy catches her wrist before she’s climbed a single rung. His hands are still big and strong, dark where hers are pale. She stares at their contrasting skin before she meets his eyes. “Why do you care?” he asks.

This could be the moment when she reveals the truth, that she was born to them – _of_ them – but she doesn’t want to lie. It’s part of why she came to their camp, but it’s not the reason she’s trying so hard to save Jasper. 

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” she says and something changes in Bellamy’s eyes, a flicker of understanding that’s there then gone. He lets go of her wrist.

She’s disappointed when Bellamy doesn’t come with them, but Finn is decent company. He cracks jokes that are a nice distraction from her grief and he doesn’t ask questions. She thinks Bellamy would have asked questions, but Bellamy is hunting rather than helping to save Jasper’s life. The rest of his people need to eat and it’s his responsibility to feed them. She thinks about that a lot on the brisk walk to the river. She thinks Indra would have done the same.

The bloodroot is easy to find. It glows a deep, vibrant red in the otherwise clear water and Clarke quickly collects enough to fill Finn’s bag. “We’re being followed,” she says as she secures the pack. She’s known for a while now, heard the heavy tread of boots a few meters behind them. “One of yours.” Her kru would never make so much noise.

Another boy crashes through the underbrush, panting for breath, his forehead glistening with sweat. “I was out getting water when you left,” he wheezes. “Octavia said you’d be here. I figured I should tag along since I’m our resident healer.” He smiles at Clarke. “Who are you?”

She’s taken aback by his eyes, dark and rich like fresh soil. Kolya’s eyes in another boy’s face. She can feel the blood draining from her face. 

“Are you okay?” the boy asks.

Suddenly the air gets very still and even the river seems to slow down. A flock of crows almost runs them over. It’s enough to knock her out of her daze.

“No,” she whispers. Not again. Twice in three days is a new record. Maun-de is sending them a message. “Run,” she says as the horn sounds in the distance. “RUN.”

They follow her to the automobile she and Kolya discovered the summer they were thirteen. It’s old and rusted but big enough to hold all three of them. She collapses in a corner with the bag of bloodroot clutched in her arms. It’s too much being in this car that Kolya found with the boy that has Kolya’s eyes. She feels like she can’t breathe.

“Are you okay?” the boy says again and even Finn looks concerned.

She tries to nod but it’s too hard. Her heart feels like it might beat out of her chest and her lungs aren’t working and her skin is hot and covered in sweat and she might never leave this car. Her eyes are wide with panic. 

“It’s okay,” the boy says, crouches in front of her and takes her hands. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe with me.” He counts in twos then fours then sixes and by the time they get to eights, Clarke doesn’t feel like she might die. “Feeling better?”

She nods and pulls a canteen from her pack, takes a sip and offers some to the boys. They decline. 

“Well done, Chancellor,” Finn says.

Clarke looks at the other boy over her water bottle. Chancellor? Even she knows that he’s much too young.

“Thanks, Spacewalker.” Finn frowns and retreats to his side of the car. 

Suddenly, a look of amazement comes over the boy’s face. “You’re Clarke Griffin,” he whispers. “You look exactly the same. You still have that freckle above your lip.” She involuntarily touches her mouth. Wells grabs her left ankle and pushes up her pants leg. “You got this scar during Red Rover when we were four.” He keeps staring at her. “How is this possible?” Finn perks up too, studies her face.

Clarke ignores him and focuses on laughing eyes and straight brows, the smiling face she loved as a girl. “Wells?”

She falls into his arms and he falls into hers, hugs her so tight it feels like he might crush her. “How?” he asks again.

“We came by dropship. My dad died but I survived. The Trig – the Grounders – took me in and raised me as their own. I’ve been here ever since.”

“I’ve heard of suicide by earth, but never coming to the ground by choice.” Wells still looks a little dumbstruck.

Clarke feels the same but talking about the dropship makes her remember the most important detail – she and her dad, they left someone behind. “My mom, is she okay?”

Wells nods. “Everyone said she was crazy, but she always thought you were alive. She never gave up hope.” 

“Your mom is Councilor Griffin?” Finn sounds a bit incredulous.

Clarke looks to Wells for guidance. He nods. “My dad’s the chancellor. Weird, right?"

It is strange, but at least the nickname makes sense. She can find out more about “Spacewalker” later. “Now that you know my story, tell me yours. How did you end up on the ground?”

Wells and Finn exchange a look. “Life support is dying – ” Wells starts. 

“It means the Ark is running out of oxygen,” Finn clarifies. 

“ – there’s maybe six months of air left before the Ark is no longer compatible with life. The human race would die with it.”

“Or so we thought.”

Wells shoots Finn an irritated look. “They sent us here to see if the ground is habitable, if our people could survive.” He smiles at her. “They were right.”

“But why you? Why children?” 

Finn laughs. “Because we’re expendable. They sent the criminals to the ground hoping we would die.” His smile is bitter. “They were wrong.”

Wells sighs. “We committed crimes.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “We should have had rights.”

“But you’re here now,” Clarke says to stop the argument before it starts. They’re in a very small space. She’s seen gonas instigate fights with a single look from twenty feet away. 

“And so are you. What was it like living with the Grounders?”

Clarke bites her tongue to keep from correcting Wells. The less he knows about her people the better. “Strange at first, but then it was just my life.” 

“That’s it?” Finn says. “All you’re going to say is, “it was my life?’”

“They’re my people.” She might have been born on the Ark, but Nyko, Indra, Lincoln – they’re the family she chose. 

Silence falls over the small space and Clarke glances at the window, sees a clear sky above. “The fog’s lifted,” she says. “Let’s go.”

They’re quiet on the walk back, a gloomy silence that matches her mood, which makes the scream even louder. It’s shrill and high-pitched – a child’s cry – and all three take off at a run across the forest floor. The girl is gone when they get there, but Bellamy is kneeling at the boy’s side. 

“Take the bloodroot back to camp. Make a tea out of it,” she calls to Finn and Wells and examines the boy. He’s covered in festering blisters and boils, his features heavy with pain.

“What’s your name?”

Bellamy answers for him. “Atom.”

Clarke forces a smile and brushes Atom’s hair back from his face. “Kill me,” he whispers. 

For a moment her hands freeze. She killed Kolya already. She can’t have more blood on her hands. But she gazes into Atom's ruined face, his eyes blue as a summer sky, and she can't walk away. This is different. She can take away his pain. She can help him the way she couldn’t help Kolya.

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’m going to help you.” She meets Bellamy’s gaze and gives a slight shake of her head. His fingers tremble around the knife he’s holding. Calmly, she takes it from him.

She cradles Atom’s face in her hands and hums under her breath, leads him into the next world the same way she did for her daddy. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” she whispers and closes his eyes. She can feel Bellamy staring at her as Atom’s blood seeps into the forest floor. 

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy’s voice is a hollow rasp.

“Why?”

He looks ashamed. “Because you did what I couldn’t. Atom was my people. It should have been me.”

He wears the face of a different man. Pale. Defeated. He lacks all the arrogance of their earlier interactions and it only makes her like him more. Tentatively, she takes his hand. He grasps hers like a lifeline. 

Later, she shows him how to make a travois and helps him pull Atom’s body back to his camp. She gives Octavia a hug and checks on Jasper, laughing with Shaggy – Monty – and on the mend. 

She finds Bellamy outside the wall watching the stars. He smiles tentatively at her. “Thank you again.”

She takes his arm and pulls back the bandage to examine the wound. His skin is warm but not feverish. Still, she lets her fingers linger a moment longer than necessary. “You didn’t understand this world,” she says and rubs yarrow over the cut. “Now you do.” 

He nods. “They said you were born on the Ark.”

“I was.” She focuses on wrapping the bandage around his arm. “My dad put me in a dropship when I was five. I’m lucky the Trigedakru found me.” Her hands freeze, realizes her mistake. 

If he notices, he doesn’t let on. “Will we see you again?”

She ties off the bandage. “I don’t know. What I did for Jasper was a peace offering.” 

He’s very close, eyes dark and shadowed in the moonlight. “We have a saying among my people. _May we meet again_.” He ducks his head and kisses her, hard and fast, leaves her breathless. 

“May we meet again,” she whispers as the gate swings closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic exploded in length, meaning more chapters and more updates. I don’t think anyone will be disappointed. Thanks for the support!


	3. Shadows in the Glass: Part II

 

* * *

 

Clarke doesn’t make it to tonDC by nightfall.

The acid fog was an unexpected delay and then there was seeing to Jasper and saying goodbye to Wells and comforting Octavia. Clarke had done her best to hide the damage to Atom's face, but Octavia had insisted on seeing. Clarke had watched with averted eyes. She knows too well how much the ground can take.

It’s long past midnight when she gets back and Nyko assures her that Indra is fine – working guard shifts to stay busy – but fine. Plus, there are bigger things to worry about.

“The heda is here,” Nyko says while Clarke unpacks her bag.

She looks up in surprise. “I saw Anya ride out his morning.”

Nyko busies himself with refilling empty medicine jars, but Clarke hears the warning in his voice. “The _Granheda_.” 

Clarke sighs. “Lexa.”

“She’s been here since dinner.” He looks at her pointedly. “She is waiting.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She leaves Nyko to finish unpacking the medical supplies and walks slowly to Indra’s tent, smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes. She takes a breath before entering.

“Heya, Heda,” she says and bows her head, raises her eyes to meet Lexa’s cool gaze. 

In moments like these, it’s easy to forget that Lexa is the _Heda_ , that she leads armies and enslaves nations and rules a kingdom forged in blood. In the dim torchlight, she looks like the girl she is, all long hair and good teeth and unblemished skin. It’s her eyes that betray her youth. They’re cold and blue as a winter’s morning. The light’s been gone from them for a long time. Clarke doesn’t think Lexa will ever get it back, if she even wants it back.

“Yu don laik kom Skaikru.” 

“I was checking on the boy Kolya speared,” Clarke says calmly. “I couldn’t let him die too.”

“I am sorry about your brother.” 

Clarke’s jerks her head up in surprise. “Thank you.” It’s not the reaction she was expecting. Lexa let her heart die with Costia and Clarke didn’t think the heda was still capable of emotions, of empathizing with another person’s pain. 

“Ste daunon don gon we en kikon ste enti.” _The dead are gone and the living are hungry_. Lexa’s eyes flicker, challenge Clarke to push back.

Clarke bites down another sigh. “What do you want me to do?”

Lexa paces the small tent, eyes taking in the three pallets, Kolya’s bow and sword, the chess set he and Clarke pulled out on long, winter nights. She sees everything, misses nothing. Clarke works hard not to let any feeling show on her face. “You met their leader?”

“His name is Bellamy.” Clarke is proud of keeping the blush from creeping up her cheeks. She can still feel his mouth on hers. 

“He trusts you?”

Clarke waits a beat before answering, chooses her words very carefully. She doesn’t want to give Lexa ammunition against the newcomers. “He knows me.” 

Lexa’s eyes flicker again. “Good. You will go to their village and learn their ways. Look for weakness. Report back all you see.” She stares at Clarke again, cool and unblinking, waits to see how she’ll respond. 

“They’re just children, Lexa. I don’t think they’ll be a threat.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She also didn’t ask one, but Clarke knows better than to correct her. “Of course I’ll go. I’m as curious about them as they are about us.”

Lexa nods curtly. “I expect a report within the week.” She stops at the door flap, faces Clarke with eyes that are colder than the shortest day of winter. “Remember who you are, Klark kom Trigadekru.”

Her words linger after she leaves, wrap around Clarke like a dark shroud. She feels the threat all the way to her bones. She starts to wonder if tonDC was ever her home.

 

* * *

 

It’s three more days before Clarke makes the trek to the dropship. 

She can’t leave, not until she exorcises Kolya’s ghost. 

Indra won’t stay in the tent longer than necessary so clean up duty falls to Clarke. She packs up Kolya’s extra clothes and spare tools, his blanket and pillow and the hardened leather ball he’d kick around the training yard on hot summer nights. _Football_ , he’d call it; _soccer_ , she’d say in return. It was one of their few links between sky and ground. In her old life, she’d watched games on the projection screen with her dad. A few days after her arrival in tonDC, Kolya had taught her how to dribble. Soccer has always brought warm memories but now, seeing the ball brings tears to her eyes. She’ll never see Kolya score another goal or tease him for diving during games. She’ll never see him again at all.

She’s just wrapping his things in his bedroll when Indra steps into the tent, face twisting when she sees what Clarke is doing. It’s a custom amongst their people, to burn a fallen warrior’s possessions along with their body. Kolya’s family has no body, but they have his things, a random assortment of weapons and tools that represent all that’s left of living, breathing _person_. Clarke wipes away her tears before meeting Indra’s eyes.

She braces for impact but keeps her voice steady. “It had to be done.” 

Indra nods briskly, ducking her head to hide whatever emotion is shining in her eyes. It makes Clarke want to scream. Trigedakru to the bone, Indra won’t show weakness even in her darkest moment. Clarke spent five years living in a tin can with three thousand fellow citizens – she’s seen what happens when people hold in their feelings for too long.

Together, they carry Kolya’s bedroll to the pyre and light the torch in unison. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” they say and bow their heads. It’s early morning and most of the village has just risen; they join Clarke and Indra in honoring their dead. 

Not everything is tossed into the flames. Blankets and clothes are easy to come by, but tools and weapons are more valuable commodities. Indra takes the spears and knives to distribute to her warriors, but keeps the sword. Clarke squirrels away the chess set for Lincoln and tucks an arrowhead into her pocket. Her first winter on the ground, there was little to do but stare at the endless white and count the hours until dawn. Kolya had taught her chess and gin rummy and how to craft a bow and arrow. She’s never been a great hunter, but she likes carving arrowheads. She likes losing herself in the tedious work, letting her thoughts flow and her mind drift away and come back to herself with a finely crafted piece of flint. 

In the past, she separated her life into before and after. _Before_ she fell; _after_ she was found. Her life divides again, takes a piece of her heart with it. _Now_ she truly understands loss.

 

* * *

 

Tea has her baby the night Clarke and Indra lay Kolya to rest and it’s not an easy labor. Thirty-six hours later, she gives birth to a perfect baby boy with the cord wrapped around his throat. He’s blue and lifeless and Clarke cleans him off with shaking hands. Tea curls around her dead child and Clarke shudders from the force of her wails. There will be other babies, but it doesn’t ease this pain. Clarke doesn’t think anything will. 

“It’s not your fault,” Nyko says as they wash the last of the blood from their hands. His arms are red to the elbows from trying to turn the baby and unwind the cord. He’s very calm but his voice is harder than usual. Clarke doesn’t judge. It isn't the first time she’s lost a patient, but never one so small. Nyko has gone through this more times than he’d like to count.

“I know,” she says and she’s not wrong. They did everything they could, but the baby just wouldn’t come. It’s no one’s fault, even if it hurts so much.

Nyko lays a gentle hand over hers. His are finally clean, even the fingernails. “Go home.” He gestures to the bloody instruments. “I’ll finish up here.”

She practically flees to her tent and falls into a dreamless sleep. At first light, she packs a bag and leaves for the dropship. She doesn’t know what she’ll find there, but she needs to be away from this place of death and grief. 

There’s a new gate and stronger walls when a guard lets her into the steadily expanding camp. There are makeshift tents and campfires and something she thinks might be a smokehouse. It’s impressive for people who’ve been on the ground less than a week. The mood is different too. She catches bits and pieces of it while she’s checking Jasper’s wound – something to do with Murphy and Wells and a murderous child – but it’s not until Wells climbs up the ladder with a bandage plastered to his neck that the severity of the situation sets in. Someone else she cared about could have died. Her hands shake as she checks the wound. 

Wells is fine. The attacker missed his carotid and mostly did a hack job on his flesh, but she still rubs yarrow over the cut just in case. 

“I’ve been drinking bloodroot tea every morning,” he tells her proudly.

She presses on a clean bandage. “It’s a last resort,” she says and holds up the pot of yarrow paste. “This is what you should use on a daily basis.”

He takes the pot and sniffs. “What is it?”

“Common yarrow,” Clarke explains. “We dry the leaves and mix them with rendered fat to form a paste.” She dabs some on her hand and gestures for Wells to do the same.

“It will heal cuts?” he asks.

She puts the lid on the jar and returns it to her pack. “It helps prevent infection, but once one sets in, bloodroot is your best option.” She glances at Jasper. “We still got lucky.”

Wells’ forehead knots as he considers her words. “Will you show me?” 

“Show you what?”

“I have the highest score in Earth Skills, but the best I’ve done for food is some wild onions and tubers. Will you show me these plants that can keep us alive?”

Clarke pauses in slinging on her pack. She’s here on Lexa’s orders, to learn more about these strange people, but Lexa never said she couldn’t help too. She won’t teach them to wield spears or craft bows, to bear weapons against her people, but she can make it easier for them to live. They didn’t ask to come here and neither did she, but she had help. They deserve some too. 

“Of course,” she says and Wells’ resulting smile starts to warm the cold place inside her where Kolya’s ghost lives. “I have a few more rounds and then we can leave. Have you seen Octavia?”

Wells nods. “I’ll take you to her.”

Clarke checks Octavia’s leg and examines a couple other bumps and bruises before going in search of Bellamy. His arm is likely fine, but he waited nearly twenty-four hours before receiving medical treatment – infection is a very real possibility. She finds him at the far end of camp, overseeing a group of workers erecting the final section of the wall. His arms are crossed over his broad chest and there are no telling lines of blood poisoning peeking from beneath the bandage on his forearm. She lets out a sigh of relief.

He smirks when he sees her. “Couldn’t get enough of me?” 

Clarke ignores him and checks the cut. “Please. I’m seeing to all my patients.”

It’s a lame answer and his smirk widens, eyes dancing with laughter. For a moment, she forgets why she’s touching him. He’s impossibly attractive when he smiles. “There isn’t anyone else like me.”

She stares up at him, cheeks flushing and mouth suddenly dry. What he’s doing, that smile and that tone of voice, she thinks it’s called flirting. Her people are direct in their attentions – there isn’t room for subtlety in a world that’s so hard to survive – and she’s never done something like this before. It’s a long moment they stand staring into each other’s eyes.

“Clarke!” Wells calls out and she blinks, turns her attention back to Bellamy’s arm. “C’mon. We’re losing daylight.” 

“Need something, Jaha?” Bellamy’s jaw ticks as he waits for the answer.

“Clarke and I are leaving camp for a few hours. She’s going to show me medicinal plants.” Wells eyes the steady teamwork putting up the wall. “You can handle everything on your own until we're back?”

Bellamy’s eyes flick from Clarke to Wells. His jaw ticks again. “I got it covered.” 

Clarke smiles up at him. “You’ll be fine.”

He jerks out of her grip. “Always am.” He stalks back to the wall and starts bellowing orders. Clarke looks to Wells for clarification but he shrugs his shoulders and starts for the gate. Still, she feels Bellamy’s eyes on her as she walks away. Even from fifty meters, she feels hot all over.

She wants to ask Wells about it, but he has other issues weighing on his mind and she wouldn’t know what to say anyway. The latest crisis is more important. It started with Murphy convincing a little girl to stick a knife in Well’s neck. 

“We heard what you did for Atom,” Wells explains. “Murphy told her to do the same to me.”

“Why?”

Wells sighs. “My dad. I don’t know how much you remember, but on the Ark every crime is a capital crime. A lot of these kids had parents floated because of the laws my dad enforces. Some of them would have been floated too.” 

“That’s not your fault.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t bring their families back. It doesn’t take away the months or years they spent waiting to die. Charlotte was young and impressionable and Murphy exploited that.” He rubs at his neck. “We banished Murphy and made a deal.”

“You and Bellamy? Is that why you checked in with him before we left?”

“We’re trying out a co-leadership thing. Octavia’s helping too. She says it can’t be only boys making all the decisions.” He shrugs. “So far it’s working.” 

“What about the girl? What are you doing about her?”

“She’s under twenty-four hour watch and we’re trying to keep better track of our weapons. Bellamy thinks she’ll be okay with time, but…” 

“You’re not so comfortable living in the same camp as a girl that tried to kill you?”

“She’s only ten,” Wells says softly. “What are we supposed to do?” Clarke smiles sympathetically – she doesn’t have a solution either. “My dad would know what to do,” Wells says. “Your mom too.”

“Would you tell me about her?” Clarke asks. She can’t keep the eagerness out of her voice. There hasn’t been time to discuss her mom in more depth, but now that Wells has brought it up, she can’t let it go.

“How much do you remember?”

She smiles, all nostalgia and longing. “Long dark hair. She had a good singing voice – she’d sing me to sleep every night. I remember her laugh. She always smelled like…” she trails off as she tries to bring the word to mind. “I think it starts with an a? The stuff she’d use to keep things clean?”

“Antiseptic.”

Clarke laughs. “She always smelled like antiseptic. I remember her rubbing it on my cuts. It stung but she’d kiss the bandage and it would feel better.”

Wells laughs too. “I prefer the yarrow. It smells better.”

“How is she now?”

He pauses and kicks at a loose branch. “She’s…” he searches for the right word. “She’s different now. Harder, I guess. She never got over losing you and your dad. It was like a light went out in her eyes.” He shrugs apologetically. “I can’t think of a better way to explain it.”

Clarke knows to well what he’s describing. She saw it with Lexa, lives it every day with Indra. Their reason for living has been taken away and they’ve become hollow shells of who they used to be. Difficult as it is to hear, she isn’t surprised her mom turned out the same way. 

“Keep telling me about her,” Clarke says and Wells complies, talks about Abby Griffin all through the afternoon, as they gather plants and she points out useful herbs. He talks about his dad too, and his mom that died when he was twelve, but very little about himself. She doesn’t push too much. A friend she thought she’d never see again is back in her life and she doesn’t want to drive him away. The crime that sent him to the ground, what’s in his heart – he’ll tell her when he’s ready and she can wait.

They return to the dropship in late afternoon and Wells insists she stay for dinner. 

“You spent an entire day showing me plants you probably had memorized before you were ten. The least I can do is offer you charred deer.”

Clarke follows him to the fire pit and shows the assembled group how to properly make a spit and turn the meat so the skin doesn’t burn. The deer isn’t bad – cooked well if not a little bland – and she makes a note to show Wells where the rosemary and thyme grow. It will do wonders for their cooking. 

Octavia sits beside her and sighs loudly. She takes a hearty bite of her venison. “Are you responsible for this?”

“For dinner?”

Octavia nods. “We’ve been eating nuts and dandelion greens all week. I thought you might be behind the real food.”

“I just showed them how to cook it.” Across the yard, she sees Bellamy watching what’s left of the venison turn slowly over the fire. He looks a little too satisfied with himself and Clarke puts it together. “I think dinner is courtesy of your brother.”

“Everything is courtesy of my brother,” Octavia grumbles. “I love the guy, but he’s in charge, he makes work assignments, he catches dinner. It’s hard to get away from him.” She glumly chews her venison. 

“He’s not so bad,” Clarke says gently. Really, he isn’t. Bossy and arrogant, but there’s something good underneath the bluster. She saw it with Atom, even if no one else did. 

“You’re right,” Octavia agrees. “Especially compared to some of the others in camp.” She grabs Clarke’s arm. “You know how to fight?”

Clarke takes a moment to consider her answer. She’s no gona, but she’s trained with a sword and bow, and she’s especially good with a spear. Eventually, she’ll join Lexa’s entourage as her personal healer; she needed to learn how to protect her heda. “I’m okay,” she says, although she’s easily a better fighter than anyone in the camp. Until she learns Octavia’s angle, she’s not revealing more.

“I don’t know how much you know about why we came to the ground – ”

“Wells and Finn filled me in.”

“ – good. Except not all of us stole medicine or wasted a month of air.” Clarke nods along, curious about Wells’ and Finn’s crimes, but not enough to interrupt Octavia again. She can ask them later. Octavia continues. “There are real criminals, murderers and rapists in this camp. Some of the girls and I have been talking and we don’t know how to defend ourselves. Could you teach us?”

“Of course,” Clarke says without hesitation. Rape is equal to murder in her world – to take away someone’s choice, to violate her body – there is no greater crime. No matter Lexa’s motives for planting her in this camp, she won’t put these girls at risk. “I’ll be back first thing – ”

“You can stay here.” 

Clarke starts to decline, there’s Indra to consider and her responsibilities in tonDC, but there’s a loneliness in Octavia’s eyes that makes her reconsider. She thinks of the bond she had with Kolya, the relationship she’s rebuilding with Wells, and sees the same yearning in Octavia’s eyes. “Okay.” Octavia’s grateful smile is bright enough to rival the sun.

They sleep curled under one blanket in the tent Octavia shares with two other girls. Fox and Harper watch Clarke nervously but are polite and welcoming and give her an extra pillow. She falls into a dreamless sleep and ignores the warmth that settles in her chest, the ease she feels amongst these strangers.

 

* * *

 

The next morning she finds herself standing outside the camp’s walls with thirty teenage girls. She spots Wells’ would-be murderer almost immediately and gives her a wide berth. There won’t be any weapons for their training session, but it can’t hurt to keep her distance. Even without Clarke’s lead, the rest of the group does the same.

“We’re not supposed to be outside the walls,” she overhears Fox say to Harper.

“Why not?” Clarke stretches her arm out and grasps her wrist with the opposite hand, loosens her muscles for the activity ahead.

Fox and Harper exchange a look. “Because of what happened to Jasper,” Harper explains. She’s the braver of the two and Clarke likes the flinty look in her eye. “Bellamy doesn’t think it’s safe.”

Clarke starts to explain that Jasper’s injury was an accident, but the girls aren’t entirely wrong. She won’t hurt them, but her people haven’t met them, don’t know them, and won’t care that the sky people don’t understand their customs. Any altercation could lead to a war. 

“We’ll be careful,” she assures Fox and Harper, and organizes the girls into three even rows. Still, she keeps an eye on the perimeter. 

They spend the morning practicing exercises with their arms and legs, and especially knees and elbows. Clarke sticks to defensive maneuvers as requested, but also out of loyalty to the Trigedakru; she’ll teach the girls to fend off potential rapists, but draws the line at training an army.

After a quick lunch break they practice their drills in pairs while Clarke walks up and down the lines and gives constructive criticism. It’s mostly an issue of improper form and she spends a lot of her time repositioning arms and legs. Octavia is a natural and jumps from partner to partner, helping the weaker grow even stronger. Clarke’s glad she took Octavia up on her offer – she likes doing something good after all the death she’s experienced.

It’s Charlotte that challenges her resolve, the little girl that tried to kill Wells. She’s practicing her moves alone, in a corner of the clearing so far away that she’s almost out of sight. Clarke watches her while reminding Roma not to tuck her thumb, notes how the others refuse to go near her, treat her like an outcast. She remembers her early days in tonDC. Not everyone was eager to take in the strange child that fell from the sky. She didn’t try to kill anyone, but she understands a little of how Charlotte must be feeling. Her people took her back, but won’t let her in. In many ways, she’s little more than the walking dead.

She takes a breath and walks over. “Hi Charlotte.”

The little girl jerks back, tiny fists balled into a defensive position. She even remembers not to tuck her thumbs. “I don’t need your help.”

Clarke nods. “I know, but I’m the teacher. It’s my responsibility to check.”

Charlotte’s expression eases, although she doesn’t drop her fists. “Why are you talking to me? No one else will.”

Clarke sits in the grass and pats the spot beside her. After a moment’s contemplation, Charlotte sits down. “I was like you once. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong.” She peers down into Charlotte’s pale face. “But I never tried to kill someone. Do you realize what you almost did?”

Charlotte hugs her knees to her chest and shakes. She’s a slight, skinny thing and it’s hard not to comfort her, but Clarke keeps her hands firmly clasped in her lap. Charlotte stopped being a child the moment she tried to take someone’s life.

“I had nightmares every night,” Charlotte says softly. “I’d see the chancellor and he’d kill my parents and I’d see his face. When I woke up, I saw Wells’. It was the same face and the nightmares never ended. Then Murphy gave me the knife and told me the nightmare could end.” Tears are running down her cheeks. “I never meant to hurt Wells but I wanted to be free.”

“I’ve lost people too,” Clarke says, tries to stay strong but she can’t quite keep the echo of mourning from her voice. “I know how much it hurts, but you can’t just kill someone to make yourself feel better.” She tips up Charlotte’s chin so she’s looking into the girl’s teary blue eyes. “Down here, every life is precious. Talk about it. Share your grief. But _never_ take it out on anyone else.” She tightens her grip on Charlotte’s chin so the girl’s eyes water with pain. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Charlotte whispers, vigorously nodding. “Can I talk to you?” 

“I was actually thinking Wells.” Clarke smiles gently. “He has the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

Charlotte smiles tentatively. “C’mon,” Clarke says. “Let’s go show the others what you’ve learned.”

It’s a slow process, but the rest of the group gradually lets Charlotte back into the circle. Fox even spars with her at one point and Octavia gives her a compliment. Clarke thinks it will be okay, eventually, and she’s quick to explain her plan to Wells once they arrive back in camp. He sighs but agrees, so long as a guard checks for weapons before he talks to Charlotte. 

The rest of the girls are different too, sore, but empowered. Clarke had taken them out of camp to keep away from prying eyes – male eyes – and she sees the difference the moment they strut through the gate. Harper in particular stares down a dark-haired boy with a deep scowl and he steps back as she walks by. In just a few seconds, Clarke feels the power shift. She did this, made it safe for these girls in their own home, and she feels quite proud of herself.

As a show of thanks, Octavia insists she stay for dinner. Clarke studies the darkening sky and contemplates. If she leaves now, she can get back to tonDC by midnight. Nyko and Lincoln will look after Indra, but she’s Clarke’s responsibility. Her family. It’s the right thing to do. Someone laughs in the background and it’s like a song in Clarke’s heart. The ground is hard and it takes more than it gives, but there’s joy too. Or there was, before Kolya died. She can’t bear to go back to her dark, empty tent. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’d love to.”

It’s leftover venison again, but the moon is high in the sky and Clarke can see every star. A broad, warm body sits beside her and she grins stupidly, glad the darkness hides it. She’s still not sure what to make of Bellamy, except that her tongue feels tied up in knots whenever she tries to speak to him. 

“You’re mine tomorrow.”

Clarke blinks and tries not to sputter. “What?”

“We got a lucky break with the deer,” he says, his voice deep and serious. “I saw traps in the woods when I was hunting this morning. Think you could teach me how to build them?”

Lexa doesn’t even cross her mind as she smiles up at him. “Sure.” 

“We leave right after breakfast.” She watches him walk away, shoulders impossibly broad in the soft light. Her cheeks are hot and she knows it’s not the firelight.

The next morning she nibbles a piece of dried jerky from her pack, palms sweaty as she waits for Bellamy at the gate. She irritably rubs them on her pants and paces, her boots leaving a deep track in the dirt. Part of her can’t wait to see him and the other part is terrified of an entire day in his company. She’s never felt this out of her element.

By the time they actually leave, she’s feeling more like herself. There was a dislocated shoulder and removing a massive splinter and seeing to minor injuries suffered by a people who’ve never done physical labor. It’s past lunchtime when Bellamy sticks his hatchet in his belt and she follows him out the gate.

She’s surprised by the comfortable silence that follows. They hike at an even pace through the forest, stopping on occasion to examine the traps Clarke finds.

“This is a rabbit snare,” she explains and pushes back the leaves to show him the thin wire loop attached to a thick peg. “The rabbit jumps through the hoop and the noose tightens, killing it. Same idea for boars, just on a larger scale.”

Bellamy peers over her shoulder, so close she can feel that broad chest against her back. He reaches around her and grasps the snare, veins and tendons flexing in his fingers as he examines the locking mechanism. “What kind of knot is this?”

“Slip knot. I can show you how to make one.” 

He puts the snare down. “Have at it.”

They sit-cross legged on the forest floor while Clarke unwinds the snare and shows Bellamy how to bend the wire with limited tools, tie the knot and set up the posts. He stares at it like if he wills it, a rabbit will come.

Clarke laughs. “It doesn’t work that way. Check back in a few days and you might have something.”

Bellamy frowns. “I’m not looking forward acorns for dinner.”

“C’mon,” Clarke says and leads him into the brush. “I’ll show you which greens are edible.” 

“On the Ark, people freaked out when they didn’t have hot water every day.” He stops and looks around, takes in the summer trees dripping with lush green leaves. “Down here, you can live entirely off the land.”

“I miss hot water though,” Clarke says. “I remember showers. They’re highly underrated.”

Bellamy chuckles and bends down to examine a burst of bright purple flowers. “How did you get down here anyway?”

She admires the view from behind while he admires the flowers. “My dad put me in a dropship and off we went. I was only five. If he ever explained why, it went over my head.”

“And your mom stayed in space. She was fair during O’s trial. Argued that it wasn’t her fault for being born.” Bellamy’s face twists. “If it wasn’t for Kane…” he trails off. “Point is, your mom isn’t so bad.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she says, tries to change the subject. All she has of her mom are fuzzy memories and other people’s stories. Besides, she’s walking in the woods with only Bellamy for company. She doesn’t want to talk about her mom. “Is that why you came down here, because of Octavia?”

His face hardens, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Yeah,” he finally says. “I came down here because of Octavia.”

There’s more to his story too, but Clarke’s distracted by a clap of thunder that splits the sky. “Branwada,” she curses under her breath. The hair on her arms stand up, the air filled with electricity. A fat raindrop lands with a splat on her nose. They need to find shelter and soon.

“Let’s go,” Clarke calls and tugs on Bellamy’s shirt sleeve. The wind is already picking up, leaves swirling around their ankles, and it’s getting darker by the minute. 

She leads them to a nearby cave. It’s a hunting camp, stocked with firewood and provisions, tools for skinning and storing game. By the time they arrive, she’s most interested in the pile of neatly stacked branches. The storm broke en route and they’re both soaked to the bone. Clarke quickly starts a fire before shedding her clothes. She neatly lines up her boots then shucks off her shirt, shimmies out of her pants until she’s standing before the fire in her underwear and fabric strips banded across her breasts. 

Bellamy openly stares at her. “You should get out of those clothes,” she says and wrings the water from her hair. Bodies are just bodies, and she’d rather expose hers than chafe in damp leather. “After an hour in wet cotton, you’ll be begging for mercy.”

He swallows thickly, toes off his boots and pulls off his pants. It’s a good show, but it’s not until his shirt comes off that things get interesting. His chest is broad and well muscled, but she’s seen that all before. It’s the unblemished expanse of skin and bone that catches her attention. She stares too.

“See something you like?” Bellamy smirks, the familiar bravado back in his voice.

“You don’t have any scars.”

His eyes travel down the length of her body, lingering over the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts. His voice rasps softly. “Neither do you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and without speaking, with just the flare of pain in his deep, dark eyes, Clarke knows that he’s also covered in wounds that can’t be seen.

“But you’re a fighter,” he finally says. 

She bends over the fire, pokes it with a stick. “I know how to protect myself, but I’m a healer.” Technically, it’s the truth. Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. She pokes at the fire harder. She’s already tired of this game.

Bellamy sits next to her. “On the Ark I was a janitor – a cleaner,” he explains when she looks at him in confusion. “But I was in the Guard for a while too.” 

“Is that why you’re in charge?”

He laughs, deep and rich, and tosses a pebble into the flames. “Sometimes I think it’s because I have the loudest voice.”

“I think it’s because you’re good at it.” 

“You don’t even know me.”

She shrugs. “I know what I’ve seen. You make smart decisions. The wall was a good idea. I heard what happened with Murphy.” She pauses, meets his eyes in the firelight. “You learn from your mistakes. That’s something most people can’t do.”

His cheeks are a bright red, from the fire or a blush she doesn’t know, but it’s a good look on him. She smirks in return.

“Your tattoo is all wrong,” he says, seemingly eager to have the upper hand again.

Clarke jerks her gaze to the caduceus on her wrist. “It’s a medical symbol from before the war.”

“It was wrong back then too.” He takes her wrist and traces the blue ink with a long, tapered finger. “The caduceus is the sigil of Hermes, messenger of the gods. He would lead souls to the underworld, linger at crossroads and make deals with mortals. Asclepius was the god of healing and medicine. It should be his staff on your wrist.”

She studies the tattoo, two snakes entwined like lovers around a winged staff. It’s always been a source of pride but now it feels like another thing she got wrong. “What do you think happened?”

“Sometimes early medicine was associated with alchemy or the occult. Magic. Things got mixed up.”

“I think they’re right.” She tugs her wrist out of his grasp. “One of my patients lost a baby before I came to the dropship.” She closes her eyes to block out Tea’s anguished screams. “She could have used some magic.”

“My mom died a year ago and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” He looks deep into her eyes, his dark and aching. “When it comes to magic, I think we make our own.”

Outside the storm rages but it does nothing to cool the heat shimmering over Clarke’s skin. She didn’t know she could feel this close to someone this fast. “Sounds like a plan.”

She reaches for him but he pulls back, hands resting firmly on her bare shoulders. “You should know, I break everything I touch.” 

“It’s a good thing I’m a healer then. I can put you back together,” she says and kisses him, hard and furious. He doesn’t push back.

His hands are gentle as he lowers her to the pile of their clothes, even as his mouth trails wet, sloppy kisses down the column of her throat. She moans and something changes, his hands grasp her hips and his beard burns against her breasts and it hurts but it feels so good at the same time. She tightens her grip in his hair. He hisses and pulls back, mouth wet and swollen as he starts unwinding the band around her breasts. His mouth trails lower, cresting over each breast, tongue sliding a wet line down her stomach. She knows about other things, has heard about them from Tyla and Pia, but right now, she just wants him inside her. 

“Now,” she whispers and slides her hands under his waistband. “I want you inside me now.” 

He slides his hands down her thighs and hikes them up over his shoulders, kisses her hard as he pushes inside, groaning into her gasp as he sinks all the way in. He’s bigger than Penn, but it’s a better fit. He hasn’t moved but it feels like he’s already touching every place inside her.

“You okay?” he whispers and she nods, shifts her hips so he groans into her neck, and then he starts moving and finally – _finally_ – she understands what the big deal is about. 

It isn’t perfect but it’s a good start and she thinks they’ll only get better with practice. She smiles into his shoulder, wonders how long until they can try again. Outside, the storm has calmed some but she’s tired, sleepy and sated and so safe in the cradle of his arms. 

When she wakes, it’s long past dark and Bellamy is sleeping peacefully at her side. He looks very young in the firelight and she can’t resist brushing his tangled curls from his face before dressing and slipping outside to watch the stars. She needs a little time to herself, to process what’s happened and figure out a plan for moving forward. She knows Lexa won’t be happy about this development, but it’s also none of her business. With time, she even thinks it could bring peace between their peoples. 

She’s smiling when he comes to sit beside her and sling an arm over her shoulders. She snuggles into his side and lets him press a kiss into her hair. It feels far too natural for people that barely know each other, but she doesn’t question it. She’ll take happiness where she can. 

“When we were little, my brother and I kept having the same argument. He’d say we’re human because we gaze at the stars, but I’d say we gaze at them because we’re human.” She glances up at the glittering expanse of the sky. “What do you think?”

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment, lightly running his fingers through her hair. “I think the more important question is if the stars gaze back.”

She mulls it over a moment. “What do you think they’d see?”

“People, trying to do the best they can to survive.” 

As if on cue, a star shoots across the horizon, faster and brighter than any star she’s seen before. “My people like to make wishes on shooting stars,” she says, tracks its trajectory into the endless black night.

Bellamy stiffens at her side. “That’s not a star.” 

They watch as it crashes to the ground in a shower of sparks. Clarke lets out a relieved breath. It’s too small to be a dropship, but there’s still only one place it could come from. “The ship’s from the Ark!” 

“I need to go,” Bellamy says and jumps to his feet, hurries into the cave to find his pack. 

She needs to go too – there’s no telling how her people will react to more outsiders – but not without saying goodbye. “If there’s a radio, tell my mom I’m okay. Please?”

Tenderly, so tenderly, Bellamy bends his head and kisses her soft and gentle. “I’ll let her know.” 

He gazes at her with dark, stricken eyes and disappears into the moonlight. Clarke touches her mouth and wonders what just happened. That kiss, it felt like a goodbye.

She won’t know until later, but it’s the first time he betrays her. It won’t be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:  
> 1). Sex, ya’ll! The rating went up and expect it to stay there.  
> 2). “Stardust” quotes! It’s always fun to incorporate other fandoms that I love.  
> 3). This chapter includes soccer references. Go Barça! 
> 
> Thank you as always for the support. Title and cut courtesy of Alt-J. Enjoy.


	4. Shadows in the Glass: Part III

 

* * *

 

It’s strange waking up in her own bed. 

Clarke stretches to greet the day and finds her thighs are sore and there’s a chafed spot of skin on her left breast. She smiles, a secret smile she’s seen lovers share, and rolls deeper into her blanket. It’s a good kind of hurt.

It’s just before dawn and the sky is still deep shades of navy and gray. She quietly grabs a change of clothes and packet of tansy leaves and treks to the pools. In summer, the Trigedakru usually use the fresh water ponds, full of cool spring water that flows down from the mountains, but Clarke’s more interested in soothing her sore muscles. She sinks into one of the hot springs, despite the sticky August heat, and lets out a sigh as the hot water starts to ease the ache. 

She sips her tea and watches the sun rise over the mountains, paint the horizon in vibrant splashes of red and orange. It never fails to amaze her, how much beauty she can find in this world. She’s lost so much, and yet, each day starts fresh and new, brings a chance to do things differently. She thinks about Bellamy’s hands on her skin and his mouth on her breasts. Maybe this will be a year without war.

A splash startles her and tea spills over the rim of her mug. She hisses and glares at the newcomer, rubs her hand to soothe the burn. 

“You do know it’s the hottest month of the year.” Lincoln slides into the pool and rest his arms on its edge. 

“No one invited you in.” She continues glaring as she blows on her tea. 

He raises his eyebrows. They have no quarrel, but her behavior says otherwise. “You’re hiding something.”

Clarke sighs. Three days could pass and he’d still be in this pool staring at her, unwilling to break. Lincoln’s patience is a thing of legend. Magic, she thinks, and her cheeks flush. 

“Lexa’s had me spying on the Sky People.” The words are more clipped than she intended.

Lincoln nods. “I heard. It was a wise choice. You can learn more inside their camp than in the trees.” He studies her face, his eyes turning soft at whatever he sees there. “What did you learn?”

“They’re just kids. Some of them aren’t more than ten years old and they’re the enemy.” She pauses, blinks back tears she wasn’t expecting. “I’m so tired of people dying.”

“The girl’s still alive.”

“What girl?”

“The one in the ship. We found her this morning. She might not survive the night, but we left her alive.”

Clarke grimaces. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill her outright.”

“Her head was bleeding. I felt she was no threat.” He frowns. “My kru did not agree.” 

She sighs. “And so it goes.”

Lincoln is quiet a long moment. “When I was a boy, I saw a ship fall from the sky. The man inside was hurt, his body broken, but I couldn’t get him out. I brought him food and water, but I didn’t speak his language, could not communicate with him. On the third day, I told my father. He made me kill him.” 

“I’ve never heard that story before.”

“It happened before you came to us, before I left for the sea. I want to believe this time will be different, but our people have long memories.”

“I fell from the sky too,” she says softly. “Maybe they’ll remember that.”

“Maybe.” 

Lincoln leans his head against the lip of the pool and closes his eyes. Clarke watches the sun finish its ascent into the sky, harsh, bright light blinding her eyes like her first morning on earth. She wills her history to repeat itself.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day is uneventful. 

Clarke spends the morning writing her report for Lexa, sacrificing one of their rare sheets of paper to record everything she saw and heard: that there are approximately 100 people in the camp, the average age is fifteen, and leadership is shared by Bellamy, Wells, and Octavia. That they are passable hunters and builders, even without any real weapons or tools. That they long for peace and fear war. She tells Lexa nothing of the time she spent searching for herbs with Wells or the triumph in Octavia’s eyes when she slammed an opponent into the dirt. She mentions nothing of Bellamy or the way he moaned her name in the torchlight. She does nothing to put her people in danger, but the things that matter, she keeps to herself.

The afternoon is spent in Nyko’s hut, tending to minor injuries and setting a broken arm, and it’s only in the hour before sunset that she finds time to sneak her sketchbook. The paper is thick but smooth, made from reeds she and Lincoln harvest from the river. Making paper is a slow, time-consuming process, but worth it if it means she can draw. 

She wants to sketch Kolya on their last day, sunshine in his hair and laughter in his eyes, but every time she tries to recreate the lines of his face, it’s Bellamy appearing on the page. Kolya’s shaved head becomes Bellamy’s dark curls and his smooth cheeks are peppered with freckles. Mostly, it’s the eyes. Kolya would never look at her with that kind of heat in his. Or hold so many secrets. She knows Bellamy is hiding something, felt it in the press of his mouth over hers, saw it in the dark depths of his eyes. She worries it will tear their world apart.

That night, missiles rain from the dropship. Clarke watches in horror as the sky turns the color of blood. Somewhere in the distance, she hears a scream. 

Lincoln comes to stand beside her. He looks worried. “Disha ste foto,” he says. _This is bad_.

It could be beautiful, the play of light and color arcing across the sky, but Clarke sees only death in the endless expanse of red. She takes Lincoln’s hand. “Graun ste gon faya.” _The world is on fire_.

The first spark has been lit. She tastes ash on the wind.

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly dawn when Damon arrives on his red horse, his crow mask dripping with early morning dew. He brings three warriors with him bearing the marks of the boar and dog and hawk. Symbols of war, bringers of death. Clarke searches for Lincoln in the crowd. He’s the only other Trigedakru sympathetic to the Skaikru.

But Lincoln is missing and Indra orders the gates flung wide, murmuring to Damon about strategy. It’s the most animated Clarke’s seen her in days, and while it’s good to see her nomon resembling her old self, she wishes it could be under different circumstances. She hurries to follow Indra and Damon into their tent.

“Tu stegeda don fleim au,” Damon says. _Two villages were burned._

Clarke gasps and reaches for her medical pack. Indra stops her with a heavy hand. “You will stay here to help our people.” Clarke doesn’t miss the way she emphasizes the last two words, but it’s not about choosing sides. It’s about stopping the death before it starts.

She searches for something to say, but comes up empty. She wants to believe it was an accident, like Jasper at the river, but she saw the dropship fall and the rockets light up the night. She heard the blasts and saw the fires. For hours the sky was tinted a pale shade of red. The Sky People did that and the Trikru will make them pay in full.

Indra storms from the tent, eyes flashing with excitement, and it makes Clarke feel slightly nauseous. Killing more people won’t bring Kolya back. It won’t ease the grief her nomon carries in her heart. Still, Indra seizes the opportunity to strike back, to make others feel her pain, and her voice carries through the camp.

“Frag emo op!” she cries. _Kill them all._

Damon and his kru respond in turn, roar like the monsters they are, masks dark and sinister as they ride into the forest. Clarke watches the last of her hope disappear into the dust kicked up by their horses’ hooves. They are merciless and relentless, won’t stop until every Skaikru is dead and bleeding into the late summer soil. She needs Lincoln more than ever.

He isn’t at the pools or Nyko’s hut, so she sneaks out of camp for the journey his refuge. The pools were always her safe space, but Lincoln has his cave. She expects it’s where she’ll find him. Indra is distracted by battle plans and an upcoming visit from Anya; the village’s civilians are rushing to organize provisions for the rapidly mobilizing army. She needs to get to Lincoln and fast. It’s an hour’s walk from tonDC and clearly marked with a spray of lilies by the entrance. She whistles three times to identify herself. Lincoln looks worried when he greets her in the doorway.

“I’m glad you are here,” he says and seizes her elbow, practically drags her into the cave. Clarke’s been there before but the artwork is always changing, and she catches a glimpse of an atom bomb sketched across the far wall. The detailing is very good and she’s proud of how far Lincoln’s skills have improved, but the image itself makes her sad. She can’t believe her people have survived this long by making the same mistakes. 

The interior is how she remembers, sparse but comfortable: a bedroll and furs, a small table and chair, food and water and Lincoln’s bow and quiver. It’s the visitor that takes her aback, long dark hair and blue eyes and a mouth tight with pain. Octavia. She’s sprawled across a blanket, her ankle chained to a lock in the floor. Her mutinous glare turns to surprise when she sees her friend.

“Clarke, you have to help me!”

Clarke stares at Lincoln. “What were you thinking?”

It’s his turn to look mutinous. “I found her in the forest.” He points to a large bump on Octavia’s head. “She is hurt. I brought her here so she could heal.”

Lincoln might have had good intentions, but he’s speaking only Trigedasleng and has communicated none of them to Octavia. She thinks she was kidnapped by a hulking grounder and imprisoned in his lair.

“I’ll handle it,” Clarke says to Lincoln and gestures from him to unlock the chain. 

She kneels down beside Octavia. “You’re okay,” she says in English. “He’s my friend and he was only trying to help.” Gently, she probes at the bruise on Octavia’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Octavia manages a small shrug of her shoulders. “My head hurts like a bitch. I did something to my leg too.”

Clarke looks at Lincoln. He couldn’t have stabbed his prisoner, right? “She hurt her leg trying to escape.” He pointedly looks at Octavia. “Another injury we must heal.” 

“If you hadn’t kidnapped her, this wouldn't have happened!” Clarke snaps at Lincoln. Octavia’s eyes flick back and forth between them. Clarke breathes in, calms the anger erupting in her chest. She isn’t mad at Lincoln. She thinks he’s an idiot for kidnapping Octavia, but she isn’t mad. Mostly, she’s concerned about how the Sky People will react when they realize Octavia is missing. “I’m sorry,” she says and examines the leg wound. It’s not deep enough to need stitches, but also won’t stop bleeding. She didn’t bring many medical supplies and Lincoln’s tools are also limited. Cauterization and yarrow paste will have to do.

Lincoln has never been one to hold a grudge and calmly accepts her apology. “Tell her that I’m sorry for scaring her. She is a brave warrior and I did not want her to die,” he says in Trigedasleng. Clarke doesn’t know why he’s pretending he can’t speak English, but doesn’t correct him either. She’s kept her own secrets from the Sky People. 

Octavia listens intently while Clarke translates. “Tell him thank you,” she says to Clarke, but looks directly into Lincoln’s eyes. They exchange a small smile that jogs Clarke’s memory – seeing them getting along reminds her why she’s there.

“Indra sent the Gang of Four.” 

“Branwada,” Lincoln hisses. 

Octavia can’t understand what they’re saying, but recognizes the dread in their tone. “What?” she demands, face clouding with worry when neither responds. “This is about the flares, isn’t it?”

Clarke tries for a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

All the color leaves Octavia’s cheeks. "I’ve been missing over twelve hours. My brother will be out looking for me.” Clarke feels herself grow pale. She’d been too concerned with stopping a war to realize one had already started. Most of what she knows about Bellamy is rooted in his love for his sister. He’ll comb every inch of the woods until he finds her, even if it kills him. With the Gang of Four out there, it very well might. Octavia pleads for their help. “You have to find him before it’s too late.”

Lincoln hesitates, debating the risks. He knows finding Bellamy is the right thing to do, but so is defending their village. Kolya might have speared Jasper, but the Sky People fired those rockets. Neither side is entirely innocent.

“Yu don gaf in chit ai na laik stel,” Clarke says. _You wanted to know what I’m hiding._ She looks deep into Lincoln’s eyes. “Dula op gon ai." _Do it for me._

If he’s surprised he doesn’t let on, gives her a look that means “we’ll talk about this later” and smiles at Octavia. “Osir gonplei nou ste odon nowe,” he says, a blush high on his cheeks, and Clarke watches in amazement as he ducks out of the cave with his spear in hand. He also has things he’ll need to talk about later.

“What did he say?”

Clarke puts the water on to boil and rolls up Octavia’s pants leg to fully expose the wound. “He says he hopes you feel better.”

“Oh. Okay.” Octavia leans back on her elbows, the same flush staining her cheekbones. It makes her even more lovely, makes Clarke grateful she snuck home from the cave under the cover of darkness. She’d have so many questions to answer if Indra caught her looking like that.

While the water boils, Clarke sterilizes her knife over the fire. It would be nice to have wine or something to numb the pain, but they’ll have to make do. “Why were you out in the woods?” she asks Octavia. Even with her self-defense training, she can’t imagine Bellamy would let his sister go wandering about on her own. Or maybe that was the problem, Bellamy trying to tell his sister what to do.

Octavia sighs loudly. “Bellamy was being an ass.” 

So the latter. “He is protective,” Clarke points out. His devotion was one of the first things that drew her to him; even with that cut on his forearm, he still put Octavia’s health first. 

“He lied to me,” Octavia explains. “He did something to come to the ground, something terrible, and he blamed it all on me. He stole the radio, he tried to kill Raven…he’s not the person I thought he was.”

Clarke swallows hard. The radio, the one thing she asked him to do…it explains that look in his eyes when he kissed her goodbye. He walked away knowing he’d destroy her only chance for talking to her mother. “I asked him to tell my mom that I’m alive,” she whispers.

Octavia lays a hand over Clarke’s. “He thought if the Ark found out earth was habitable, they’d come down and kill him for what he did.” She laughs harshly. “He said he did it to protect me, but we both know he was protecting himself.” 

Clarke nods mutely. She can’t believe she was so stupid, gave so much of herself to a boy that lied to her face. She wonders if she should have told Lexa about his skills with the hatchet or the power in his words. She wonders if she put her people at risk because she let herself be weak.

A heavy silence fills the small cave. They can keep waiting, but they need to deal with Octavia’s leg at some point, and now is as good at time as any. Clarke plucks the knife from the fire. She hands Octavia a piece of worn leather. “Bite down on this.” The blade is a molten orange and Octavia’s eyes go wide as it inches closer to her skin. “This is going to hurt,” Clarke says and presses the blade to the open wound.

Octavia screams, tears pouring down her cheeks, and she bites almost clear through the leather strap. Clarke strokes her hair until the pain is tolerable, feeling very close to tears herself. It’s not easy watching another person suffer.

She smoothes yarrow paste over the burn and wipes away the tears. “All better now,” she whispers.

Octavia nods briskly. “Thanks.” She takes long, deep breaths to calm down and watches Clarke with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry about your mom.” 

Clarke forces a weak smile, suddenly exhausted. “Maybe there’ll be another radio.”

Octavia looks equally exhausted. “I hope so.” She glances at the pile of furs and woven blankets that make up Lincoln’s bed. “I can’t keep my eyes open much longer.”

Clarke pulls Octavia to her feet and draws back the top layer of covers. Sleep has never sounded so good. Maybe when they wake up, this entire day will have been a dream. Lincoln finds them still linked together, hands clasped tight as they huddle in his bed. There’s a funny look on his face when he spots Octavia under the furs. Clarke barely catches it as she blinks away the remnants of her nap. “How did it go?”

He holds up the foghorn. “I created a diversion.”

She lets out a relieved breath. No matter how angry she is with Bellamy, she doesn’t want him dead. Far from it. She wants to know why he did it, look in his eyes and see if they can fix things. Octavia said he did something terrible to come to the ground. Clarke’s willing to listen if he’s willing to explain. 

Their chance never comes. Octavia is screaming and Lincoln’s war cry rings through Clarke’s ears and then the world goes black.

 

* * *

 

Clarke pieces the world back together when she wakes in the dropship.

Dull metal walls. Dim lighting. Some kind of whirring noise. Rain splattering angrily against the roof. Wind howling. The storm a few days earlier was a precursor to something even bigger. Hurricane season is upon them and the timing couldn’t be worse. She groans and tries to roll over. 

“She’s awake!” a voice calls – Octavia, she thinks – and then strong hands are gently pushing her back to a prone position.

He’s blurry, but she recognizes Wells staring down at her. “Don’t try to move yet. You took quite a blow to the head.”

That much she knows, and she figured out where she is, but not why she’s there. “What happened?” Her voice is a creaky rasp.

Octavia squeezes water from a rag with enough force to turn her knuckles white. “My brother,” she hisses, pauses to regain her composure before wiping the blood from Clarke’s forehead.

“He found you.”

“He found all of us. They tied up your friend.” Octavia glares at someone across the room. “Monroe got a little too excited – you can thank her for the bump on your head.”

“Where’s…where’s my friend?” There’s no way she’s giving them Lincoln’s name when they’re keeping him prisoner.

Octavia’s grip tightens on the rag. “They took him upstairs. Bellamy says it’s to get information but I think he wants revenge.” 

“Help me up.” 

“You shouldn’t move yet – ” Wells starts but Clarke ignores him, braces a hand against the cold metal floor and pushes to a sitting position. Her head aches so much she almost cries out.

“I need to get up there,” she insists. 

In the background, the whirring noise intensifies. “We have a bigger problem,” Wells says. 

Clarke turns to find Finn lying on a table, a Trigedakru knife lodged between his ribs. A dark-haired girl is working on a radio a few feet away. A radio! Talking to her mom is still possible, but not until she fixes Finn.

“What happened?”

Wells sighs. “He got stabbed during the rescue mission. Bellamy carried him all the way back. Just in case, I have him drinking bloodroot tea, but I don’t know what to do about the knife.” 

“Let me see.” Slowly, and despite the pain in her head, Clarke examines the wound. There’s no fluid leaking and Finn’s breathing is shallow but steady. If they can take out the knife without severing arteries or blood vessels, he should be fine. 

“What do you think?” Wells asks. Octavia wipes Finn’s forehead with a damp cloth. 

Clarke straightens. “I want to see Bellamy.”

The girl at the radio comes alive. “No way! Not until you help him.” She’s like a wild animal, all tense limbs and wide eyes. Frantic. Everyone is concerned about Finn, but this girl looks like she’s losing her mind. Clarke can sympathize, but Finn’s injury can wait. She doesn’t know how long Lincoln has before he starts losing limbs.

“Not before I see Bellamy.”

The girl gets in her face, her sharp chin jutting angrily. “I didn’t risk my life coming down here so you could – ”

“Raven, enough,” Wells interrupts.

“You’re the girl that came down from the Ark?” Raven nods. “My friend up there is the reason you’re alive. I’ll help Finn, but not until I make sure that my people are okay.”

“You have five minutes,” Raven says and twists away, stalks back to the radio and fiddles with the dials.

“Take her upstairs,” Wells says. “I’ll handle Raven.”

The climb is slow but Octavia is patient. Every rung she climbs feels like another stab through the base of Clarke’s skull, but she makes it to the third level. Octavia and Bellamy are already fighting.

“Get out of here, O,” Bellamy snarls, stopping short when he spots Clarke behind her. 

For a few seconds, his eyes go wide with more than surprise. Guilt, Clarke thinks. Maybe regret too. She might have fallen for it if not for Lincoln hanging from interlocked seatbelts at the back of the room. 

She hurriedly checks him over. “Yu laik ok?” His arms are spread wide but she can’t see any visible wounds on his chest. He nods. “Ai na fis disha,” she adds. _I’m going to fix this._ His smile is as tight as the bonds holding his wrists.

Despite the pain in her head, she makes it to where Bellamy and Octavia are arguing. “You and me, we need to talk,” she says, grabs his bicep for good measure. It’s hard and solid beneath her hand. She ignores the memory of those arms holding her just a few days before. 

“Clarke, I – ”

“Now.”

He nods to a boy in a black knit cap and pulls Clarke into a far corner. He frowns when she pushes her hair back off her face. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he says and tries to touch her forehead, but she shrugs out of his reach.

“Let him go.”

His hand falls to his side, dark eyes pulsing. “He kidnapped my sister.”

“It was an accident,” Clarke insists. She wants this conversation over. With Finn awaiting treatment and Lincoln tied up, there’s no time to waste.

“Like Jasper? When is it not an accident with you people?” 

Clarke feels like she’s been slapped. “You people?” she echoes. “I thought we were on the same side.”

“ _Your_ people killed three of _my_ people. Finn has a knife in his chest.” He takes a step closer. “I look out for my own.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she hisses. “But I’m doing the same. Let my friend go or I don’t help Finn.”

“Help Finn and then we’ll let him go.” 

“If anything happens to him, the deal is void.” 

She holds out a hand to shake on it and Bellamy takes it. His grip is firm, his skin rough, and it brings back a memory of those hands sliding up her body. Bellamy is close, so very close, his eyes hot and his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, and their gazes lock. Clarke licks her lips and Bellamy’s eyes linger on her mouth as he takes a step back. 

It doesn’t take long to get the knife out of Finn. Wells brings a torch for more light and Octavia soaks everything in a liquid called moonshine and Raven works on the radio, trying to contact the Ark and their medical team. From the angle of the knife, Clarke knows she needs to go slow and steady, and she takes a few deep breaths to calm the fury gathered in her chest. She’s so angry with Bellamy but Finn comes first. 

Clarke counts to three and pulls on the knife. It slides out easily, coated in blood, but without causing any more damage. Octavia hands her a suture needle and wire and Clarke quickly closes the wound, smears yarrow over it and presses on a bandage from her pack. Finn is pale and slightly feverish, but his pulse is still steady and his breathing is even. Clarke thinks he’ll be okay once he’s had time to recover. Her work done, she climbs the ladder to the third level to collect Lincoln.

“Finn is fine,” she says and grits her teeth against the pain in her head. When they’re back in tonDC, she might sleep for the rest of the week. “I’m taking my friend home.”

Bellamy storms over to her. “Did you know about this?” He holds up Lincoln’s notebook, flips past a drawing of Octavia to a rough sketch of the dropship camp. There are one hundred lines on the opposite page, twelve crossed out. 

“He’s a scout,” Clarke says. “It’s his job to monitor what’s happening here.”

“How long have you been spying on us?”

Clarke raises her chin. “From the moment you landed.” He looks stunned. “What did you expect, Bellamy? You were strangers that invaded our territory. Of course we wanted to know more about you.”

“Is that why you came to our camp?” It’s his turn to look like he’s been slapped.

Some of the fight goes out of her. She’s still angry, but he’s a terrible liar and that face reveals everything he thinks and feels. The betrayal is real. She lied to him just as much as he lied to her. “Yes,” she admits. “But that’s not all of it. I might be a grounder, but I was born in the sky. I wanted to know about you too.”

“I guess we showed our true colors.” 

She glances over his shoulder at Lincoln, arms trembling from being strung up. “I guess we did.” She stares at Bellamy, unsure what to say next.

“Clarke!” Octavia pokes her head through the hatch. “Something’s wrong. Finn started seizing.”

He’s doing more than seizing. Foam is leaking from his mouth and he’s struggling to breathe. She quickly instructs Wells to turn him on his side to drain the fluid from his lungs. 

“Branwada,” she curses. The symptoms can only add up to poison.

“Clarke?” Wells’ brow is knotted in confusion, probably because she’s muttering to herself in Trigedasleng.

“Keep him comfortable,” she says. “I know what to do.”

The hatch is locked when she gets to the third level, Octavia on her heels. Her vision is spotty too, but she blinks a few times and bangs on the door. 

Finally, black cap opens the hatch. Clarke pushes through and hurries over to Lincoln. “What were you thinking?” 

He does his best to shrug. “I was protecting us.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bellamy demands.

“Where’s his pack?” Bellamy gestures to black cap and Clarke digs through the bag until she finds the medicine case.

“Which one is it?” she asks Lincoln in Trigadesleng. Usually, she preps the antidote packs, but Lincoln had enough medical training to make his own. 

He shakes his head.

“This isn’t the time to be a martyr! The Gang of Four killed three of their people and they want revenge.” She glances around and even Bellamy looks murderous. “They could kill you and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” 

Still, he shrugs. “If they kill me, they will have the retribution they seek. The Trigedakru will be safe.”

“Enough,” Bellamy interrupts. “Finn is dying and he’s not talking.” He picks up two seatbelts and ties them together. “We need to try something else.

Octavia lunges at him. “Didn’t you hear what Clarke said? He saved my life!”

Bellamy’s eyes are hard. “Clarke’s been spying on us from the moment we met her. We can’t trust anything she says.”

“Is that true?” Octavia’s voice is small, her eyes shimmering with betrayal. “Did you lie to us? To me?”

Clarke glares at Bellamy. Now isn’t the time to discuss their mutual betrayals. “I was sent to spy, but I never lied to you.” She looks at Lincoln. “He was trying to save your life, just like I taught you to defend it.” 

“Okay,” Octavia says firmly.

“O, come on. You can’t believe she’s telling – ”

“They saved my life. I won’t repay them with torture.”

“Clarke!” Wells’ voice breaks through the open hatch. “Finn’s having trouble breathing. We need that cure now.”

Octavia tries to get between her brother and Lincoln, but black cap grabs her. “Bell, no! He doesn’t even speak English!” .

“I’ll make him understand,” Bellamy says and pulls the makeshift whip tight. He looks at Clarke. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

She practically spits at him. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

He pauses, regret flickering in his eyes, but then he sets his jaw and lets the whip fly. “I know.”

Clarke feels each blow personally, like it’s her chest being lashed and torn. Lincoln is like her brother; his pain is her pain. 

“Stop,” she begs and Octavia tries to break free, but black cap holds on tight.

“Not until he talks,” Bellamy says, chest heaving. He wipes a hand over his brow.

“Tell them,” Clarke pleads but Lincoln keeps staring with glassy eyes. His jaw locks with the effort to keep from crying out.

Raven arrives and shocks Lincoln with live wires. Bellamy finds a screw and pushes it through Lincoln’s palm. Clarke watches silently while Octavia screams and wails. No matter how angry she was before, she’ll never forgive Bellamy for this.

It ends only when Octavia grabs the knife and slashes a deep incision into her forearm. Lincoln pulls at his restraints and growls.

“Beja,” Clarke says. “Tell me.” She holds up each of the small glass bottles. He nods at the second. 

She clasps it in her fist and turns to Bellamy. “Let. Him. Go.”

They release his arms and tie him to the floor while Clarke treats Octavia and Finn. The dropship shakes from the force of the storm and Clarke fights the urge to scream. She’s not happy about being trapped in a tin can with these people.

Still, some of them are kind. Wells brings a blanket and Octavia rounds up medical supplies. She sits with Clarke while she tends to the wound on Lincoln’s hand and smoothes yarrow paste over the welts on his chest. 

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Ask him yourself. He speaks English.”

“Really?” Clarke nods. “I’m Octavia,” she says softly.

Lincoln groans, his voice heavy with pain. “Linkon,” he drawls. They share another sweet smile.

“I can take over,” Octavia says. Her color is high but she looks determined. 

Clarke swallows down her smile and hands over the rag and yarrow paste. “Your brother and I have unfinished business.”

“Good luck.”

The pain in her head has faded to a hollow ache, but her vision is clearer and she makes it down the ladder in half the time it took her to climb it. The storm has calmed some and she finds Bellamy in the open doorway of the dropship, watching the rain. He’s deep in thought when he turns to face her.

“You forgot this.” She shoves the bloody screw in his direction. 

He swallows hard as he takes it from her. “Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are very different things.”

“No,” she says softly. “They’re not. The choices you make, that’s the person you are. There’s always another way.”

“You told me that you’re tired of losing people.” He looks exhausted when he meets her eyes. “Finn was dying – what would you have done?”

She’s quiet a long moment while she tries, and fails, to come up with a response. “I don’t know.”

He smiles, a tiny quirk of his lips that makes him so beautiful her heart aches for what could have been. “It’s not easy being in charge.”

More silence passes.

“When can we expect retribution?”

“You won’t, at least not from us.” He looks up in surprise. “Remember? I don’t want more blood on my hands.”

“I remember.” He clears his throat, stares out into the drizzle. “So I guess this is it?”

“I guess it is.” 

Heavy footsteps sound behind her. Lincoln is there, leaning heavily on Octavia, but walking on his own two feet. Clarke braces her shoulders to bear his weight. She can feel Bellamy watching her as they step out of the dropship.

She holds her head high, doesn’t look back as she walks out of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among other things, the length of this fic got INSANE. Figure one more chapter for this part, then we move into reimagining season two. Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	5. Shadows in the Glass: Part IV

 

* * *

 

It surprises Clarke, how easily the lies spill from her mouth. She’s told half-truths or concealed information, but never looked deep into Indra’s eyes and outright lied. She bites down on her lip to keep it from trembling.

“I was gathering plants when the hurricane broke,” she says, eyes downcast to avoid Indra’s piercing stare. “I waited until the sky was clear before coming home.”

Indra continues to study her, but doesn’t push further. “I am glad you have returned. There are injuries from the storm and Nyko is expecting you.”

Clarke doesn’t like the way Indra’s gaze lingers as she slips from the tent. She really doesn’t like the knowing look in Nyko’s eyes.

“Lincoln came by this morning for bloodroot.” Nyko’s tone is far too casual.

“It was a bad storm.” Clarke avoids his eyes and pretends to rearrange pots of chamomile.

“Don’t lie to me. I’m your friend and Lincoln’s. I’ll keep your secrets.” 

Clarke looks up, feeling very close to tears. It’s hard holding everything inside, her kidnapping and Lincoln’s torture and Bellamy’s betrayal most of all. Maybe she’s not as Trigedakru as she thought.

Nyko’s expression softens. “It’s a dangerous game that you’re playing.”

“The game’s over,” Clarke bites out. She sees Bellamy’s handsome face when he tortured her friend. “We lost.”

“Good.” Clarke’s taken aback – Nyko is usually more sensitive to her feelings. “I’m sorry you’re hurt, but glad you’re staying away from them. Nothing good can come of it.”

“You’re right.” She returns to organizing pots of herbs. Nyko lets her be. She blinks back tears. No matter how he made her feel in the cave, whatever she shared with Bellamy is as good as dead. Her people don’t mourn the past. They focus on the present. She closes off that part of her heart and moves on with her life.

 

* * *

 

“You should go back to the dropship.” Lincoln sounds perfectly sane despite the crazy thing he just said.

“Are you out of your mind?” Clarke smears more yarrow on his hand. They’re in his cave for a quick check up away from the camp’s prying eyes. 

“I did stab Finn,” Lincoln points out. “The least we can do is make sure he’s still alive.”

“I don’t want to go back there.” Clarke ties the bandage with more force than necessary.

Lincoln winces but doesn’t back down. “You don’t want to face Bellamy.”

Clarke gives up on distractions and puts down her medical supplies, crosses her arms over her chest. “So what if I don’t? He lied to me, tried to kill you. Why would I want to be around him?”

“Because you care for him.” She wants to smack the smile off Lincoln’s face.

“I barely know him.”

“He was protecting his people.”

“He tortured you!”

“Indra would have done the same.”

Clarke looks away, avoids his knowing gaze. She remembers the year she turned eight and Petr stole their yearly tithe. The capital had expected tribute and their village would have been shunned without it. Petr’s offense had put them all in danger and Indra didn’t let him off easy. He was tied to a pole in the center of the square, his back sliced to ribbons until he admitted his crime. His family was punished too, stripped of their house and horse, so they’d never forget. Indra would thrash Bellamy raw if she found out what he did.

“What are you saying?” 

“That we are not so different, us and them. We can both do better.” 

She mutinously crosses her arms. “You want me to forgive him.”

Lincoln shrugs. “That’s up to you. I want you to stop carrying so much anger in your heart.” 

“He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

“You know forgiveness isn’t about what we deserve.” 

Clarke leans into him, rests her head on his hard, broad shoulder. “Can I think about it?”

“I can’t make you do anything, but I hope you’ll listen to my advice.”

She thinks about it for the rest of the day while she’s setting broken bones and monitoring concussions. She thinks about Finn gasping for breath and the shrieking slap of Bellamy’s whip against Lincoln’s chest. She thinks about how easily Octavia forgave her betrayal, how quick she was to let her back into her life. 

Mostly, she thinks about Bellamy’s words in the rain, “What would you have done?” A day passes and she doesn’t have an answer. She likes to think she’d have acted differently, but there’s no way to be completely sure. Are there lines she wouldn’t cross to protect those that she loves? Could she torture one person if it meant a saving another? She looks at her hands, small and slim-fingered. Those hands have saved countless lives – could she let them take one?

Another day passes and she’s no closer to a resolution. She sleeps little and eats less. Indra watches her closely, brow furrowed as she tries to figure out what’s going on with her daughter. Clarke wouldn’t have an answer even if she asked. 

She knows she’s furious with Bellamy, but having trouble identifying exactly why. He kidnapped her. He tortured Lincoln. He destroyed the radio. _He did the things she couldn’t do_. Finn is alive because of the sacrifice Bellamy made. Clarke saw it in his eyes when he said goodbye, the dark, aching depth of his regret. What he did to Lincoln, it took a piece of him too. 

She’s still thinking about it when she tells a guard that she’s doing Lexa’s bidding and openly walks out of tonDC. Her mission hasn’t ended just because the truth was revealed. They need to live with the Sky People and it’s not possible if she continues to avoid Bellamy. She’s a big girl – she can work with him for all their sakes.

Something is wrong at the dropship, she can tell the second she walks through the gate. The yard is usually filled with various work groups, but the inhabitants are aimlessly wandering about – a fully healed Jasper is asleep in a corner, snuggling with a large stick. Wells has his arms wrapped around a sobbing girl. He frantically gestures for Clarke to come over.

“I need your help.”

She can’t quite hide her smile. “I can see. What’s going on?”

He carefully helps the girl sit and leads Clarke to a bin of jobi nuts. Magic Beans, her people call them. They’re for parties and festivals, consumed within the safety of tonDC’s walls. She instantly knows what happened.

“We ran low on food and Monty found these nuts in the woods. They’ve made everyone go insane!” 

Across the yard, two girls are dancing with a broom and black cap is muttering to himself. She gives up hiding her smile. “These aren’t the plants I told you to collect.”

“The storm destroyed most of our stores. We got a little desperate.”

The girls start crying over the broom. “The good news is that it will wear off in a few hours.”

“The bad news?” Wells calmly confiscates the broom.

“You have a few more hours of this.” She looks around. Neither Bellamy or Octavia are present. “You’re on your own?”

“Octavia’s in the dropship with the younger kids and Bellamy’s on an assignment from the Ark.” 

Clarke looks up in surprise. “You talked to the Ark?” 

“Just for a few minutes.”

“Did you tell my mom? ”

“I thought it should come from you.” He grins. “The radio’s waiting whenever you’re ready.”

Her own grin nearly splits her face. Her mom! She can talk to her mom! It’s all she’s wanted for twelve years, but it also feels too soon. She doesn’t know what to say and her hair’s a mess. She looks exhausted and worn down. She needs to collect herself. If she’s waited twelve years, a few minutes more won’t hurt. 

Finn’s wound is a good distraction. Clarke gently pulls up his shirt and peels back the bandage, refuses to acknowledge Raven lurking at the foot of the makeshift bed. Every time she looks at her, she sees the live wires in Raven’s hands, smells the rank odor of burned flesh. Clarke grits her teeth to keep from lashing out.

“Everything okay?” Finn asks. Clarke didn’t talk to him after the surgery, doesn’t know how much he knows about the aftermath. She treats him objectively, like any other patient.

“You’re healing nicely. No sign of infection. Just in case, stay in bed today. You don’t want to accidentally rip out your stitches.”

Raven tries for a joke. “I’ll tie him down if I have to.”

Clarke ignores her. “I’ll be back in a few days to check it again.”

She goes in search of the radio, but Wells intercepts her first. From the expression on his face, she knows she won’t like what he has to say.

“Bellamy’s gone.”

“On an assignment for the Ark. You already told me.”

“He took rations. A lot of rations.”

“Branwada,” Clarke curses. _Jobi nuts_. He’s probably arguing with his own reflection about now. Still, not her problem. “If he’s not back in a few hours, send a search party.”

“Find him, please.”

“No. No way! I don’t even want to look at him after what he did.”

“I’d go myself, but I’m needed here.” He gestures at the madness unfolding around them. “I need him, okay? The others listen to him.” He looks at her with soft brown eyes that remind her of Kolya’s. He’d wear that exact expression when he wanted something from her. Wells actually bats his eyelashes. “I can’t do this without him.”

Weak, so weak, she thinks as the fight goes out of her. She came here to test how much she can stand Bellamy, and now she’s going to traipse through the woods after him. 

“Fine,” she says. “Tell my where he is.”

Wells gives her “coordinates” and Octavia shows her how to read a “topographic” map. “We used to spend hours planning trips to places we’d never see,” Octavia explains. 

Clarke studies the map and plots out her route. She has a good idea of where Bellamy is.

“It’s a long walk,” Octavia says softly. Her face is a jumble of emotions, hurt and anger and fear. Not matter what he did, her only family is alone in the woods. 

“He’s going to be fine,” Clarke insists. So many things could go wrong, but she has to believe he’s all right. 

She repeats that mantra when Octavia throws herself into her arms and hugs her tight, and when she’s hiking towards the old ruins near the bunker. She was right about its location. She and Kolya spent a chilly night there the winter they turned fifteen, taking shelter from a sudden snowstorm and drinking too much centuries-old alcohol. It had been months before she dared sip wine again.

When she finds him, Bellamy is on his knees in the mud with tears on his cheeks, thin silver lines cutting through the grime coating his anguished face. He’s mumbling to himself and waving his hands in the air. “Kill me,” he pleads and Clarke sprints across the yard.

She’s slow to touch him, doesn’t want to spook him and cause him more distress. Whatever is happening in his head, he’s begging for death. She handles him like newborns she cradles during their first moments of life. 

“It’s going to be okay.”

He blinks at her, mud clinging to his eyelashes. “I betrayed you too,” he says and extends his arm, fist clenched like it’s holding a gun. “You can have the first shot.”

“Bellamy,” she says, crouches before him and cups his dirty face in her hands. “Look at me.” His eyes are shiny with unshed tears but they gradually clear as he holds her gaze. “Hey there,” she whispers. “Welcome back.”

He blinks again. “Clarke?”

She nods. “It’s me.” She pauses. “How do you feel?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to bring you home.”

“Home,” he says bitterly. “What a joke.”

Clarke tries a different tactic. “You ate some bad nuts. You’ll have an awful headache, but there shouldn’t be permanent damage.” She drops her hands and digs into her pack for her canteen.

“Thanks,” he says and takes a deep pull. She watches the cords in his throat work as he swallows. 

“Let’s get you back to camp.” She pushes to her feet, holds out a hand to help him but, they’re distracted by a sharp click.

Behind them is a tall, lanky boy with a rifle aimed at their heads. In his dark clothes, he looks like the Maunon. Clarke takes a step back.

Bellamy springs to his feet and throws himself in front of her. “Dax, what the hell are you doing?”

Dax doesn’t lower the rifle. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. Nothing personal, but he didn’t leave me much choice.” 

“Shumway put you up to this.”

The safety clicks off. “Something about tying up loose ends. If you have any last words, I’d say them now.”

Clarke uses that few seconds pause to her advantage. She knows Dax can see her, but she’s mostly blocked by Bellamy’s broad shoulders, and he’s probably too focused on his task to notice her hands. Or the half-full canteen she lobs at his head. 

“Now!” she cries and they duck as Dax takes a shot. 

It goes wide and he stumbles away from the canteen, and it’s enough time for them to launch a counterattack. Clarke kicks out Dax’s legs while Bellamy scrambles for a thick branch that was brought down by the storm. She gets too close though and Dax slams the butt of the rifle into her ribs. It feels like her internal organs are realigning, but she’s too distracted by Bellamy’s roar to notice the pain.

She hears it though, the rhythmic thwack of Bellamy’s knuckles against Dax’s face and then vice versa. She wants to jump in and help but she’s having trouble breathing; in this state, she won’t be of much use.

In the end, Bellamy takes care of it himself and jams a shell casing into Dax’s jugular. His gurgling death rattle is the ugliest noise Clarke has ever heard. Bellamy looks devastated, watching Dax bleed out with wide, stricken eyes. He just killed one of his own people. Despite the circumstances, it can’t be easy for him.

Slowly, Clarke crawls to a broad tree and leans against its thick trunk. She sucks in a deep breath to combat the pain in her ribs. Bellamy collapses beside her.

“You’re okay,” she whispers between thick, aching breaths.

“No, I’m not,” he gasps. “I’m a monster.”

Another brick in the dam shatters and Clarke feels her resolve crumbling with it. It’s hard to be angry with Bellamy when he looks so broken. He’s bruised and bloody and staring at the sky like he wants it to swallow him whole. She just wants to take him in her arms and never let go. 

But first, they need to deal with their injuries. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says and slowly guides him to the bunker.

Inside, she quickly lights candles and tears a sheet into strips, boils water leftover from her and Kolya’s previous adventure. Bellamy sits on a low bed, staring at his hands. There’s only dirt on them, but the nuts are still in his system – it’s not hard to imagine what he thinks he’s seeing. Gently, she dabs at the blood on his face.

“Why are you helping me?” His voice is a hoarse rasp.

“You did save my life. Again.” She swipes the rag over his nose. 

He winces but doesn’t cry out. He also keeps pushing. “You should hate me.”

Clarke is quiet as she wrings the water from the cloth, watches the contents of the bowl turn a pale pink, like the sky the morning after the rockets fell. She drops the rag with a loud splash. “I wanted to,” she confesses. “I was so angry about what you did to Lincoln. What you did to me. But I thought about what you said and…and I still don’t know what I would have done.” 

His smile is sad. “There’s always another way.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Something like that.” She pushes aside the bowl. “Is that why you think you’re a monster?”

He looks away. “I shot the Chancellor to get on the dropship with Octavia. That’s why I smashed the radio, so he couldn’t come down and make me pay.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “There was more to it though. Three hundred twenty people were culled from the Ark to preserve oxygen. The radio could have saved them and I destroyed it to save myself.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I did it to save my own skin and people died. All I do is hurt people.”

A heavy silence surrounds them.

“I think you were right,” Clarke finally says. He glances up, eyes heavy with guilt. “Who we are and who we need to be for our people are very different things. What you did to Lincoln was wrong but I can’t say I wouldn’t have done it too.”

“I kidnapped you. I _tortured_ someone.”

“I forgive you for it.”

He rears back. “I don’t deserve it.”

Tentatively, she reaches out and brushes her fingers down his bruised cheek. He flinches from the contact, but doesn’t pull away. “Forgiveness isn’t about what you deserve. I’m giving you a second chance, Bellamy. Prove that you’re man I thought you were.”

“A dropship is coming down in two days. I was going to run. I was going to disappear into the woods and never look back.”

A million questions run through Clarke’s mind – is her mom coming? Why is Bellamy leaving Octavia? – but there will be time for that later. In this moment, she just wants him with her. 

“Well, you can’t. I need you,” she says quietly. “Everyone needs you, but I need you most of all. I want peace for us – all of us – and I can’t do it without you.”

“We have guns now.”

She shrugs, even though those words send a shiver down her spine. Guns will change things, give the Sky People an advantage. No matter the consequences, she needs to tell Indra. “We’ll figure something out,” she says, smiles to let him know she means it.

He smiles in return, a small, tired one that manages to reach all the way to his eyes. He really does have the most beautiful smile. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says and cups her face in his hands so he can press his mouth against hers.

It turns heated quickly, his rough, calloused hands sending up sparks everywhere they touch her bare skin. She tangles her hands in his hair and his hands drop low on her hips but she can’t hide the yelp of pain when he pulls her against his broad chest.

He instantly lets her go. “What’s wrong?”

“My ribs,” she hisses. “If they’re not cracked, they’re definitely bruised.” She eases from the floor to sit next to him on the bed. “Hand me those bandages.” 

He rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let me do this for you.”

She considers for a moment – she isn’t used to being the patient – but Bellamy’s right. She can’t exactly bind her ribs by herself. “Okay,” she agrees and carefully pulls her shirt over her head.

Bellamy’s pupils flicker and he swallows hard. Clarke watches him while he fumbles with the bandages. In the past, her breasts have been a burden. They required extra binding, stretched the neckline of her shirts, weighed heavily on her back in the dead of winter, but she likes the way Bellamy looks at her. It was the same in the cave. Even covered in blood and dirt, he looks at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Tell me what to do.” Their eyes lock and she knows hers hold the same heat. It’s not the right time, but it’s there all the same, the current of attraction that flows between them. 

Her voice is embarrassingly high as she walks him through the steps and she sucks in a breath when his hands brush the underside of her breast. He’s so close she can see every freckle on his cheeks, the rings of gold in his eyes that surrounds all that dark brown. She wants to kiss him again even though it’s too soon. They’ve only just reconciled; she’s not risking that connection by letting the physical stuff come first.

“All done,” he says and smoothes the binding down her sides. He steps back and holds out a hand, gently tugs her to her feet. 

“Thanks.” She reaches for her shirt, wincing as she pulls it over her head. Silence follows, neither she nor Bellamy sure what to do next. She needs to leave too. Her short trip to the dropship has stretched into an all day affair.

“I need to get back – ”

“Unity Day is the day after tomorrow – ”

They laugh awkwardly.

“You first,” Clarke says.

He clears his throat. “I don’t know how much you remember about Unity Day – ”

“When the twelve stations became the Ark?”

“If you’d let me finish…” She holds up her hands in surrender. “We’re having a party to celebrate our first Unity Day on earth.” He pauses and stares at his feet. “You should come.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Think of it as a fresh start.”

She likes the sound of that: beginning anew, putting the past behind them, building something better from the ashes of the mistakes they’ve made. “I’d like that.”

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

It’s almost chaste after the other kisses they’ve shared, but they’re both a little breathless when they pull away. “Next time, don’t ask.” 

He laughs, deep and throaty, so different from the broken boy she found in the mud. His laughter dies and his expression turns solemn. “I’m taking the guns back to the dropship.”

She looks him in the eye. “I’m telling my people about them.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Neither of them sound happy about it, but it feels good, putting things out in the open. She’s so tired of lies. She’d rather have the truth, even if it hurts.

“I’ll see you at the party?”

“I’ll be there.”

Bellamy kisses her goodbye, a long, slow kiss that leaves her wanting more. On the walk home, she focuses on the butterflies in her belly rather than think about what he’s doing in the bunker. Guns. Just what an already unstable situation doesn’t need. 

She missed her opportunity to use the radio too, kicks at a root in annoyance. The motion jars her achy ribs and she pauses to take shaky breaths until the pain subsides. She’ll be back in two days and can contact her mom then. In the meantime, she should probably try not to injure herself further.

Her stomach is growling when she wearily pushes open the flap to her tent. It’s not a long walk from the dropship to tonDC, but each step felt like hot pokers being shoved between her ribs. 

Indra regards her critically, sharp eyes missing nothing. “What happened?”

Clarke limps over to her chair. “Lincoln and I were sparring and it got a little rough.” She forces a bright smile. “What’s for dinner?”

Indra’s eyes narrow as she puts two bowls of fish soup on the table. “You have been spending much time at the Skaikru camp.” 

“I’m following orders,” Clarke says, tries to make her tone casual. 

“You are a loyal soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier.” But she is loyal. “They have guns now.”

“Will they use them?”

“I don’t know.”

Indra studies her. “You care for them.”

It takes Clarke a moment to respond. “I’m trying to understand them. Once, I could have been them.” 

“But you are Trigedakru.”

“I can’t be both?”

“You would not be the first to try.” Indra pauses, a faraway look in her eyes. "Many years ago, I loved an Omac gona.” 

Clarke looks up in surprise. The Omac are _Watakru_ – River People – and were enemies of the Trigedakru until Lexa’s alliance. They would have still been enemies when Indra was young. 

“He loved me in return, despite the differences between our krus.” In the torchlight, Indra looks like a girl, dreamy-eyed and smiling. Clarke’s never seen this side of her nomon. Her stories about Havel, Kolya’s father, are downright clinical. “My heda found out and made me choose, my love or my people. I am Trigedakru.” She smiles sadly. “My choice was not right or wrong, but it was mine. I live with it.” Her gaze has never been clearer. “Soon, you will have to make your own.”

Indra turns back to her dinner and Clarke stares blankly at her bowl, appetite gone. The Trigedakru are her family, but the Sky People aren’t her enemies. She wants to strengthen her friendships with Octavia and Wells and reconnect with her mom. She wants to start fresh with Bellamy, to do things right this time. 

She stares at the woman who raised her, loved her like her own child. She isn’t ready to choose.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think?” Clarke tugs on the hem of her shirt and waits for Lincoln’s response. 

He puts down his journal and pencil. “What do you want me to think?” 

Clarke sighs. “Is it too much?” She’s spent the past two days letting her ribs rest, but also drying beetroot into a powder and mixing it with cocoa butter to make a balm. She’s wearing blush and lipstick and outlined her eyes in kohl. Her shirt is sleeveless and made from a silky material. She found it in a bunker two years earlier while picking amaranth and she’s glad she saved it for a special occasion. Unity Day. _A fresh start_.

“You look beautiful.”

He’s recovered well from his injuries, only the bandage wrapped around his palm hinting at the events that occurred in the dropship. “Good.” She toes at the dirt floor. “How do you feel about coming along?”

“How do I look?” A rare hint of amusement flickers in his eyes.

Clarke laughs and it feels good, that bit of joy bubbling up through her chest. It’s hard to remember the last time she truly laughed. Lincoln looks stoic as ever, but there’s a light in his eyes that’s new. She knows how it got there, knows she has it too. “Like you’re ready to see Octavia.”

Lincoln blushes, a deep flush that creeps up his cheeks, but he doesn’t deny it. “Do you think she wants to see me?”

“I know she does.” His cheeks flush a shade darker.

He’s quiet on the walk to the party and Clarke knows he’s worried about showing up uninvited. “Tonight is about starting over,” she reminds him. “You deserve to be there as much as me.” 

Her theory is tested when they arrive at the gates and half a dozen rifles are pointed at their heads. “We’re invited guests.” Clarke says and hands over her knife. She feels naked without it tucked securely into her boot, but she’s determined to do this right. No lies this time. 

“You were invited,” black cap responds. He raises his rifle a little higher at Lincoln. “Not him.”

“Miller, enough.” Bellamy pushes through the crowd, jaw ticking when he spots Lincoln behind her. “Let them through.” Miller lowers the rifle and they step into the light. Bellamy’s eyes round slightly at the sight of her and she smirks to herself, glad she put in the extra effort. It’s worth it to see the slightly dazed expression on his face.

When he recovers his composure, Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t know you were bringing friends.”

She takes a step closer and touches his arm, feels the muscles straining under her fingers. “Tonight’s about friendship, right?” She lets her hand trail down his bicep. 

He gives her a look that says he knows exactly what she’s doing but doesn’t shrug her off. “He tries anything, I can’t be responsible for what happens.”

“We come in peace,” Lincoln says and holds out a hand.

There’s a long pause, but Bellamy eventually shakes it. “To peace. Come inside and have a drink.”

The crowd watches them warily when they cross through the gate but Bellamy’s glare keeps them back. “They’re our guests,” he yells. “Make them feel unwelcome and you answer to me.” 

An uneasy tension settles over the group, but Jasper appears with a keg of moonshine and someone starts banging a drum and slowly, but surely, it becomes a party. Two boys get up when Lincoln sits beside Octavia by the fire, but he doesn’t seem to notice. They stare at each other like there’s no one else on earth.

“C’mon,” Bellamy says and slings an arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get a drink.” Clarke curls into his side as she follows him to the keg, matches her steps to his longer strides. Many sets of eyes watch them as they cross the yard.

The moonshine tastes terrible and burns all the way down but she likes the fuzzy feeling that settles in her chest. She just feels _good_ , standing in the moonlight with Bellamy, feeling him solid and steady at her side.

“You look beautiful.” Lincoln said the same words but they sound different coming from Bellamy. Hotter. 

She smiles at him, lightly rubs her thumb over the healing cut on the bridge of his nose. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” She tips up her chin as he lowers his face and their mouths meet, sour from the moonshine, but still so, so sweet. He tangles his hands in her loose hair and deepens the kiss.

She feels that pull again, like she can’t be close enough to him, like the only thing she needs is to feel his bare skin against hers, but it’s still too soon and she hasn’t drunk enough moonshine to forget. “Not yet,” she whispers against his mouth, swallows his groan with her smile. 

“How am I doing?” He pulls back to look in her eyes and she sees the questions in his. It’s more than his kissing technique. He’s asking if he’s doing this right, if he’s being something different. Being something _better_. 

“I like this side of you.” There’s more, so much more she wants to say, but for now, this is what she can give. He let Lincoln into the camp and she’s been honest about her intentions there. It’s a good start.

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

She opens her mouth to remind him not to ask, but he seizes the opportunity and kisses her deep and wet. His tongue slides over hers and it's her turn to moan into his mouth.

Someone clears his throat. “Bellamy. Sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed.”

They break apart to find Miller looking like he wants to be anywhere else. Clarke’s heart drops into the pit of her belly. She prays it has nothing to do with Lincoln.

“What is it?” 

“We got a fight club situation on the west wall.” Miller glances at Clarke. “The Grounder isn’t involved.” The tension eases out of her chest.

“I’ll take care of it.” Bellamy looks at Clarke, eyes hot and pulsing as he takes her in. “We’ll finish this later.”

She gets herself together, smoothes her messy hair and straightens her clothes. Unsure how long Bellamy will be gone, she goes in search of Wells and the radio. 

His eyes widen as she approaches. “Wow, Clarke. Look at you.”

She gives him a casual shrug. “It is a party.”

“Has Bellamy seen you yet?” 

“He met us at the gate.” She’s grateful for the dim light hiding her blush. Across the fire she spots Lincoln, deep in conversation with Octavia. “So far, so good.”

Wells takes a sip of his drink. “It was smart bringing your friend. We need to see that everyone can get along.” He holds her gaze a moment longer than necessary. “We can, right?”

Clarke feels her slight buzz disappear. Of course Wells would put a damper on her good mood. “It’s Unity Day, Wells. Do we have to talk about that?” 

“Sorry. I’m bad at small talk. Just another reason my father…” He trails off. “You’re right. It’s a party. Let’s celebrate.”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to my mom. Is the radio still in the dropship?”

Wells’ face falls. “It cut out this morning. We lost contact with the Ark.”

“Is everything okay?” Her heart leaps into her chest -- she can’t believe she wasted another opportunity.

“Raven thinks it could be solar flares but she’s not sure. You can talk to her if you want. She’s working on it now.”

“That’s okay.” She’d rather join the fight club than talk to Raven. “I’ll try again next time I’m in camp.”

They watch the party in easy silence until Fox comes over and asks Wells to dance. He’s as stiff and awkward as ever but follows her into the crowd. Left to her own devices again, Clarke goes in search of Octavia, finds her alone by the fire.

“Where’s Lincoln?”

Octavia gestures across the yard. Lincoln is talking to Finn, listening carefully to what the other boy is saying. It makes Clarke grin, that they’re getting along. It’s exactly why she brought Lincoln tonight. Maybe her plan really will work.

“I saw you with my brother.” Octavia’s eyes are hard, her mouth tense. She clearly hasn’t forgiven Bellamy for his part in Lincoln’s torture.

“We’re trying to start over.”

“He kidnapped you. He tortured Lincoln.” They’re the exact words Bellamy said after Dax, but without the self-loathing. Octavia just sounds angry. “How could you forgive him?”

“It’s not easy running things,” Clarke says quietly. 

“That doesn’t excuse what he did.” 

Clarke hears Bellamy’s voice at the bunker. “Kill me,” he’d begged. She doesn’t know how to explain to Octavia that it isn’t worth hating someone who already hates himself. “Nothing excuses what he did,” she agrees. “But people make mistakes. The good ones learn from them.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know that he loves you. 

Octavia sighs. “Sometimes it’s too much being loved by him. He’s killed people for me. How am I supposed to live with that?”

Clarke thinks about Kolya in his last moments, how he sacrificed himself so she could have a chance. “You make your life mean something,” she says, realizes it’s why she fights so hard for peace. She needs to make the world better with this gift she’s been given. 

“I want to be a warrior,” Octavia says, her voice filled with resolve. “I don’t know how much you remember about the Ark, but people were only allowed one child. My mom hid me under the floorboards to keep me alive. My entire life, four walls were all I knew. My mom and my brother were my world.” She meets Clarke’s eyes with a fierce, steely gaze. “I never want to be helpless again.”

“You can do that here.” Clarke smiles. “Lincoln will help.”

The anger on Octavia’s face is replaced with a shy, secretive smile. “He makes me feel like I can do anything.”

As if on cue, Lincoln appears and Clarke smiles broadly. “We were just talking about you.” Octavia elbows her sharply. “Octavia was asking about the dancing. I thought you could show her the taengoe?” She fixes him with a challenging stare.

He glares in return. Lincoln hates dancing, but it means holding Octavia close, so he takes her hand and disappears into the crowd. Clarke sips her moonshine and watches them, studies how their bodies move together to the beat. Octavia is a natural dancer, graceful and lithe as she learns the steps. It will suit her well if she really wants to be a gona. 

Bellamy’s jaw ticks when he comes to sit beside her. “Do I have you to thank for that?”

She bumps him with her hip. “They’re just dancing.”

“That’s how it starts.”

“We could give it a try?”

He laughs. “Not a chance.” He slings his arm over her shoulders again and it's enough, resting her head on his chest and watching the dancers. He sighs. “Incoming.”

Finn is heading their way, Raven tagging along behind him. Clarke stiffens, anticipating the coming confrontation. Lincoln and Octavia approach as well, and signal Wells to join them.

“Raven has something to say,” Finn says to break the awkward silence. 

“You were letting Finn die,” Raven says to Lincoln. “He’s the only family I have.” Finn takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “But what I did was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Lincoln nods. “I am sorry for your suffering.”

Raven blinks. “I wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.”

He smiles at her. “It is Unity Day.”

Clarke watches the exchange, lets go of her own anger. It was exhausting holding onto it anyway. “Our people have a saying, that the dead are gone and the living are hungry. We all made mistakes but I think we can put the past behind us.”

Raven tentatively smiles. “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Octavia adds. 

“Me three,” Wells interjects.

It takes a moment but Bellamy agrees, followed by Finn and Lincoln. 

“Unity Day,” Bellamy says, shakes his head in amazement. 

Finn clears his throat. “Did you tell them?” he asks Lincoln.

“I was waiting for you.” 

“What’s going on?” Bellamy demands, forehead creasing in annoyance. Clarke can sympathize. She also hates when people keep secrets from her.

Finn and Lincoln share a look. “We want to arrange a truce,” Finn says. “We figure if we can get along, our people can too.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No way.”

Clarke can’t imagine Bellamy and Indra talking peace terms. “Laik yu loko?” she says to Lincoln in Trigedasleng. _Are you crazy?_

His eyes have never been so serious. “Osir don kom lokup.” _We have to try._

She sighs, knows he’s right. All their work this night will be for nothing if they can’t make the peace last. “It’s worth a shot.”

They agree to meet at an old bridge halfway between their camps. There’s an old saying about repairing relationships, mending bridges – Clarke likes the symbolism in it.

Bellamy walks her to the gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the bridge.”

She kisses him, hard and hot, pulls back and touches a finger to his mouth. “Then, we can finish this.”

His smile is downright sinful. “I’m counting on it.”

She and Lincoln discuss strategy on the walk back to tonDC. Clarke shares Indra’s story about the Omac, thinks they can use her history to get her on their side. Indra might be Trigedakru to her bones, but she knows something of choosing sides, and more important, knows the pain it can inflict. Clarke hopes she’ll agree to do things differently this time.

Things don’t go quite according to plan. 

Indra listens patiently to their proposal, but doesn’t approve it. “I do not have the authority,” she says and signals for her fastest rider. “Anya will have to make the decision.” 

Clarke paces as they wait for Anya to arrive. She’s so close to achieving her goal, but Anya can ruin everything with one harsh word. It’s not a good sign when the heda rides into camp with paint around her eyes and braids in her hair. She’s dressed like a gona, like she’s ready for war.

Still, she listens as Clarke and Lincoln explain the proposal. “I’ve spent time with them,” Clarke says. “They want peace.”

Anya stares at Lincoln. “They kidnapped and tortured one of our warriors.” 

Clarke and Lincoln exchange a look. “How did you – ”

“We have eyes everywhere.” Anya regards Lincoln critically. “You did not seek retribution.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” he says. “Tonight, we made amends.” 

Anya spends a long moment considering his words. “You really think we can achieve peace?”

Lincoln nods. “I do.” Clarke quickly agrees.

“Then we try,” Anya says. “I hope you are not wrong.” Lincoln and Clarke are both standing in front of her, but her words are directed at Clarke. 

“I hope so too,” she says under her breath.

She keeps repeating it on the walk to the bridge and while they wait for the Sky People. The bridge is clear, but there archers in the trees. Clarke had argued against it, but it let it go for bigger battles, namely Anya surrendering her weapons.

“I do not trust them.”

Clarke’s not sure she trusts them either. “We have to try in good faith,” she insists. It's the only way this plan will work. On the other side of the bridge, Wells’ head pokes through the foliage. When the rest of him appears, it’s clear he isn’t carrying a gun. Anya curses but hands over her sword.

Clarke holds her breath as her heda confidently crosses the bridge. Wells seems taken aback by her war paint and armor, but bravely walks to meet her halfway. 

She can’t hear what they’re saying, but she sees Wells extend a hand. Anya stares at it dismissively and Wells drops his hand and tries again. He says something and smiles; Clarke winces. Anya will take it as a sign of weakness. 

Anya’s face hardens but she listens to what Wells has to say. He waves his hands when he talks and Anya’s frustration is visible but she lets him continue. At one point, she looks thoughtful and Clarke releases that breath, heart leaping into her chest. They did it. They made peace!

“Grounders! There’s Grounders in the trees!” At the Skaikru end of the bridge, Jasper pops into view. His rifle muzzle flashes as he fires. Anya and Wells duck for cover and a tight knot forms in Clarke’s gut. Just like that, it’s over. 

Bullets are flying and everyone is screaming and Anya stands amidst the bloodshed, eyes flashing with rage. “Zog raun!” she yells and the arrows shoot from the trees.

Clarke runs for cover, drags Lincoln along beside her. He’s searching for Octavia on the other side of the bridge. “She’s fine,” Clarke pants, pulls him along down the path. “We need to get away.” 

She runs, like the day Kolya died, keeps running until she’s safe behind tonDC’s gate. She bends at the knees to catch her breath, and it’s only then that she realizes the magnitude of what happened. The Sky People brought guns. They fired the first shots, started a war. She doesn’t know if she wants to run away with Bellamy or wring his neck. Even if he didn’t start it, there’s no turning back from this.

She straightens and catches Indra’s eye across the yard. She doesn’t look angry or upset, but desperately sad. Their conversation at dinner replays through Clarke’s head.

It doesn’t matter what she wants. Her choice has been made.


	6. Shadows in the Glass: Part V

 

* * *

 

It’s chaos after the bridge.

There are injuries to treat and bodies to burn; two gonas were killed by the Skaikru’s bullets. And as if they’re rubbing salt into the wound, another dropship falls fast and lands hard, sends sparks into the night sky. The ground trembles in reaction and for a moment, Clarke wonders if the bottom is really dropping out of her world. 

Anya stalks through the gates, shaking with rage. Her gaze seeks out Clarke’s in the darkness. “This is on you,” her eyes say, like pulsing pools of black fury. Clarke bows her head and hurries to Nyko’s hut. She feels the weight of those deaths like she landed the final blows herself.

“It’s not your fault,” Nyko assures her as they prep a surgery. Wil has a bullet in his shoulder that needs to be removed. Clarke lays out bandages and arranges instruments while Nyko sterilizes the wound. 

“I should have left well enough alone.”

Nyko meets her eyes over Wil’s feverish body. “I didn’t see anyone else trying. You couldn’t have predicted how it would end.” He glances at her hands. “Are you ready?”

She nods and reaches for the scalpel. The surgery is easy – clean entry and exit wounds – but they still check for shrapnel before sewing the bullet hole closed. Clarke stares at her row of neat, even stitches, wonders how this one thing can be so simple when everything else is so hard. She can’t fix the mess they’ve made like she did Wil’s shoulder.

There are more injuries to deal with and she works through the night, until Indra insists she eat something. Clarke isn’t hungry, but agrees to a slice of bread and a piece of dried jerky. She watches the camp mobilize while she chokes down the food. 

“It was a brave thing you did,” Indra says.

Clarke loses her appetite completely and puts her plate aside. “It doesn’t matter now. It still led to war.” She laughs harshly. “We both know it’s what Anya wanted all along.”

Indra is quiet a moment. “We cannot choose our world.”

Clarke thinks of what might have been, tears burning her eyes at how close they came. “I wanted to build a new one.” 

Indra smiles sadly. Whatever hope they had died with their people on the bridge.

There are cries at the gate and one of Anya’s attendants rides in on a white horse. Rayna pulls off her rat mask, her reddish hair spilling down her back like old blood. She looks triumphant and a hard knot forms in Clarke’s chest. 

“It is done,” Rayna says proudly. 

Anya turns to the assembled crowd, warriors and civilians alike. “We captured a Skaikru natrona. He has told us much about their camp and their heda.” Anya’s gaze locks with Clarke’s. She wasn’t lying about having spies everywhere. “This morning, he was given the fever.” Her eyes flash with excitement. “He goes to their camp as we speak.”

The knot in Clarke’s chest tightens until she can barely breathe. The fever is used to weaken the battlefield and can only mean one thing: the war has officially begun.

Indra grabs her wrist before she can slip away. “Do not think about it.”

Clarke tries again, but her nomon is a warrior and her grip is like an iron shackle. The best she can manage is a furious glare. “I need to warn them.”

“All eyes are on you,” Indra hisses. She pulls harder and drags Clarke to their tent. “I understand that you care for them, but you must put yourself first. If you do this, Anya will not take you back.”

Clarke deflates slightly. Indra’s right – what she wants to do is equivalent to treason – but she doesn’t see a way out of it. She can’t stand by and let her friends die. “They need me.”

“I need you,” Indra says softly. “I did not carry you in my belly, but I carry you in my heart. You are my daughter, Klark kom Trikru. I have already lost my son. I will not lose you too.”

Indra’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears and her bottom lip trembles. Clarke’s only see her so vulnerable once before, on the night Kolya died, when she crawled into Indra’s bed to let her know that she wasn’t alone. She cares for Bellamy and Octavia and Wells but she loves Indra more. She can’t turn her back on her now. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “I'll stay.”

She rationalizes it to herself over the course of the day. She wouldn’t have made it to the dropship before the captive – Murphy, she thinks – and by then it would be too late. The fever burns out quickly, but spreads like wildfire. There would be little she could do but keep them hydrated.

Eventually she retreats to Nyko’s hut. There are always leaves to crush and roots to grind – an afternoon with the mortar and pestle will help keep her mind off the choice she made. Lincoln is in the hut when she arrives, hurriedly rifling through Nyko’s stores. His bow is slung across his back, hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He doesn’t carry a sword and his pack is too large for a gona. He isn’t preparing for battle, but something else entirely.

“Going somewhere?” Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrows.

He flinches, but doesn’t look ashamed. “Why are you still here?”

“There’s nothing we can do.” She doesn’t like how weak her words sound to her own ears, let alone Lincoln’s.

He shakes his head. “I never thought you to be a coward.”

“I never thought you to be suicidal!” 

“I’m leaving,” he says softly. “Octavia and I are going to the sea. Luna will take us.” Clarke remembers his stories of Luna, his mother’s younger sister. She was sad to see him leave when he came of age, but told him there was always a place for him with her people.

“You’re running?” She thought Lincoln might fight at Octavia’s side, but never considered that he’d abandon them all. 

“I don’t see any other way.”

“What about Bellamy? Wells? Your new best friend Finn? You’d take Octavia and leave the rest behind?”

He clasps her hands. “Come with us. Bellamy will not let Octavia go alone.”

Clarke’s not sure he fully understands Octavia’s strength of will, but also knows Bellamy will never abandon his people. The Bellamy she first met, sure, but not this new man, strong and capable and determined to do what’s right. Even if she begged, he’d stay and fight. 

“My people are here,” she says quietly. And really, it’s that simple. She can’t save Bellamy, but she can stand by her family. She can’t disappear into the woods knowing she’ll never see Indra again. If Anya’s plan truly works, her nomon will be all she has left.

“Yu laik sis gon ai tombom.” _You are the sister of my heart._ He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “May we meet again,” he says in English and Clarke blinks back tears, repeats the Skaikru mantra.

“May we meet again,” she whispers and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. She can’t imagine her life without him.

A loud boom shakes the hut. Clay pots to clatter to the ground and drying roots swing violently from the rafters. Clarke brushes a dusting of St. John’s Wort off her face and hurries outside. A mushroom cloud climbs proudly towards the sky, dark smoke blotting out the sun. 

Part of her is thrilled – the Skaikru are likely still alive – but she shudders to think of the aftermath. There will be injuries, mostly on her side. There were modern weapons on the Ark. She remembers the electronic lashers, how fascinating they’d been to a five-year-old unaware of the pain they could inflict. She stares at the smoky sky. There will be no end to the pain to come.

Lincoln stands beside her and watches the horizon with an unreadable expression. “Wor ste gon osir,” he says. _War is upon us._

It’s hours before she’s confronted with it, hours before Anya rushes into Nyko’s hut and clears off the operating table, deposits a girl no more than twelve years old on the cold steel. 

“Fis em.” Anya’s eyes are wide with fear, her face paint smeared and a bruise forming on her left cheekbone. 

Clarke tries to remember the girl’s name. Tris. She’s Tris, Anya’s second. For a moment it makes her doubt her choice, choosing a people that train _children_ to be warriors. She studies her patient. With her messy blonde braid and delicate features, she looks like Charlotte, the little girl that tried to kill Wells. Some of the Skaikru are murderers. There are shortcomings on both sides.

Nyko handles Anya while Clarke preps the instruments, convinces the heda to wait outside while they work. His expression is grim when he comes back inside.

“They blew up the bridge and she took the brunt of the explosion,” Nyko says. His tone isn’t accusing but Clarke still feels guilty. She cares so much about these people that put a child on her operating table.

She reaches for her stethoscope. It’s primitive, a cross between an ear trumpet and pinard horn, but it clearly broadcasts Tris’ reedy breathing. 

“Well?”

“A collapsed lung. I think there’s internal bleeding too.” She steps away so he can take a turn with the stethoscope. 

He sighs heavily. “All we can do is our best.”

Their best isn’t good enough. They insert a shunt to drain fluid from Tris’ lungs and apply yarrow to her wounds. Nyko rechecks her pulse and listens to her breathing, his expression growing steadily grimmer. Eventually, he steps away and begins boiling pennyroyal tea.

“What are you doing?” Pennyroyal has many uses, most of them fatal.

“Her broken ribs have punctured her heart. There is nothing we can do but make her comfortable.”

Clarke wants to curl into a ball and cry, but she does her job. “I’ll get Anya.”

The heda’s eyes are hard, her jaw locked so tight Clarke worries that it might crack. Nyko explains the extent of Tris’ injuries and Anya agrees that it’s cruel to prolong her suffering. Clarke thinks of Atom in the woods, how he begged for death. Tris is too far gone to understand what’s happening to her, but the futility of it sits just as heavily in Clarke’s chest.

Very gently, Anya takes her second into her arms. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” she whispers and holds the cup to Tris’ mouth, strokes her fingers through the little girl’s hair until she stops gasping for breath, rests against Anya’s chest with a serene smile on her face.

They leave Anya alone to say goodbye and Clarke doesn’t stay to talk about it, stalks through the gate and doesn’t stop until she’s at Lincoln’s cave. 

“You need to warn them.” 

She doesn’t care if she’s accused of treason, if she’s exiled into the forest and never allowed back. She can’t in good conscience let more people – children – fight for…she can’t remember why this war started in the first place. Territory? Hunting grounds? Pride? She just watched a little girl literally die from a broken heart. It all seems completely pointless.

Lincoln gestures to the pack he’s filling with extra weapons. “I’m on my way.”

“Tell them…” she trails off, tries to find the right words. They’re not her family, not yet, but they’re her friends and she’ll miss them. And Bellamy…she wishes she hadn’t held back on Unity Day. She wishes they had more time. She wishes for so many things that she’ll never have. 

“Tell them, leidon lukot gon ai tombom.” _Goodbye friends of my heart._ She digs into her pocket and pulls out Kolya’s arrowhead. It’s her most valuable possession and she only wants one person to have it. “Give this to Bellamy. Tell him I want it back when I get to the sea.” 

Lincoln takes the arrowhead. “Ai na lok yu op gon tida.” _I will see you at the sea._

Clarke nods. “Gon tida.” She doesn’t know when she’ll get there, but she likes having a goal in mind. It gives her something to think about besides dead children and dead brothers. She likes the idea that one day, when her work is done, she can go home to Bellamy. 

No one bothers her when she gets back to tonDC. Word of Tris’ death has spread, and so has her part in it. Her neighbors give her a wide berth when she storms through the gate and she heads straight for her tent, falls face first into her bedroll and slips into a deep sleep.

A boy about Tris’ age wakes her at dusk. He has matted dark hair and wears armor a size too large, stares at her dispassionately and tells her she’s been summoned. 

“I’m Gawain,” he says as he leads her to the meeting hall. “Tristan’s second.”

Clarke represses the shudder. She has long loathed Tristan, a strong general but man of terrible cruelty. He takes pleasure in the punishments he doles out and the lives he takes. Once, she heard him brag about the hours he spent cutting off a Floukru warrior’s head. “One hack every time he begged for mercy,” Tristan had boasted, laughed loudly and taken a swig of beer. Clarke does her best to hide her repulsion when she steps into the room.

Neither Anya or Indra look pleased but Tristan is downright gloating, and Clarke instantly figures out what happened: after the failure at the bridge, Anya was stripped of command in place of Tristan. It makes her pray harder that Lincoln warns Bellamy in time.

“Heya heda,” she says when she enters the tent, gives polite nods to each of the assembled generals. She keeps her head bowed until Tristan tells her to sit.

“Klark kom Trigedakru” he starts. “I hear you are a talented healer.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“I hear you are also strong with a spear.”

Clarke inclines her head towards Indra. “I had a good teacher.”

Tristan studies her, but doesn’t comment on her insolence. Instead, he smiles, like the snake he is, and sets her already high-strung nerves further on edge. “You will do your teachers proud in the days ahead.” He looks at Anya. “You will follow Anya into battle and fight at her side, provide medical care for those in need.” He stares at her hard, his sharp brown eyes searching her face. Whatever he finds is satisfactory, because he gestures for her to get up and walk with him to where the maps are laid out. “Tell us what you know of their camp.”

She feels their eyes on her, Indra’s and Anya’s but Tristan’s most of all, and she calmly points to where the dropship fell. She tells him exactly what she told Lexa. “The main camp is here. Leadership is shared between three hedas. They each manage a different part of the camp. They have guns now and probably know how to use them.”

Tristan scratches his chin. “This information is not news.”

“I don’t know anything else. I haven’t been to their camp since the bridge.” 

Tristan stares at her again, then calls for a warrior. Kay pokes his head into the tent. “Heda?”

“Lok op natrona.” _Find the traitor._

Murphy. 

Clarke remembers his cold, reptilian smile. He’ll turn on his own people in a heartbeat. 

She fights to keep her expression even. “When do we leave?”

Anya answers. “We ride at first light.” She narrows her eyes. “I expect a warrior, Klark.”

“I will have her ready.” Indra pushes to her feet, eyes flashing with resolve. Anya and Tristan take her at her word, return to studying the map.

Clarke is quiet on the walk back to their tent and during their preparations. The pools are crowded but she endures her ritual soak, lets Tyla braid her hair and Pia brush dark paint over her eyes. She wears the armor Indra lays out and sharpens her sword as she was taught, puts a fresh point on her spear. The camp fills with the sounds of battle, horses whining and boots stomping the earth into dust. Her hands shake as she loads her pack.

When it’s time to leave, she meets Indra in the yard and pulls her nomon into a hug. It’s one of the few times they’re allowed to publically show affection, these moments before their souls could leave the earth. All around them, other families are doing the same.

Indra curls her hand over Clarke’s nape and pulls her head down so their foreheads touch. “Taim yu drag raun, taim yu ge ban au.” _If you fall behind, you get left behind._

“I’ll be careful,” Clarke promises. She pulls back and smiles. “Ai hod yu in.” _I love you._

Indra nods briskly. “Me seintaim.” _Me too._

She breaks away and starts for her unit, back straight and head proud. Just like that, she’s the fierce gona Clarke met her first day on earth. “May we meet again,” she whispers to Indra’s retreating back. She looks for Lincoln, but doesn’t see him in the crowd. 

“Klark!” Anya calls and Clarke stops her search, hurries across the yard and slides onto Anya’s pale horse.

“Jus drein, jus daun,” Tristan roars and the horse kicks into gear. Clarke grips its silvery mane to keep from falling off. 

Warriors swarm around her, their masks glowing like hideous creatures, like the stories her mom would read on the Ark. Their war cries hurt her ears. She remembers tales of witches and wolves and monsters in the woods. Somewhere along the way, her people became the very things she feared. 

If the Sky People heard Lincoln’s warning, they didn’t heed it, because they’re huddled behind their wall when the Trikru army arrives. Clarke can’t see much so far behind the lines, but she can hear the Skaikru’s shouts, the crackle of their rifles. The Trikru inch in closer and mines explode, her people’s anguished cries filling the gully. She tries to go help but Anya holds her back.

“I’m providing medical care for those in need,” she parrots Tristan’s words. 

Anya’s grip on her wrist tightens. “It will not help us if you are dead too.” 

Clarke glares but doesn’t try again, mostly because Anya’s right. She’ll be of no use to anyone, Skaikru or Trikru, if she dies. She does press a bandage to Murphy’s belly after Tristan slices it open for neglecting to tell them about the mines, but it doesn’t make her feel better. She wants to help people that deserve it.

“What do we do now?” Anya asks. 

Tristan straightens to his full height, eyes fixed on the dropship. “Now, we fight.”

“Frag em!” he cries and their gonas charge. With no other choice, Clarke runs along with them. 

The camp has changed since her last visit. Skaikru warriors disappear into the brush only to reappear on opposite side of the yard. Tunnels, in addition to the mines. Mini-bombs too. A fighter throws something over the wall and it explodes in a shower of sparks that tosses three gonas through the air. They land with a thud several meters away and don’t move again. 

Clarke stays low and keeps her knife clasped in her hand. She doesn’t want to use it, but she also wants to live. She wants everyone to live. 

But the gate comes down and the Trikru rush into the yard. She can hear the Skaikru screaming – they’re out of bullets, there are too many of the enemy – and Wells appears in front of the dropship, orders everyone inside but the gunners. Clarke ducks out of sight. She doesn’t want him to see her like this. 

He doesn’t see her because overhead, yet another star explodes in the sky, a bright burst of flame that trails across the horizon. “It’s the Ark!” someone yells and every head turns, the fighting grinding to a halt as they watch the star make its descent. 

It lasts only a second, maybe two, but it’s enough time for the Sky People to save themselves. Anya screams and runs for the dropship. The door is closing rapidly but she manages to slide through the opening. At her heels, Clarke makes it in too. Maybe they can negotiate a truce, or a ceasefire, or _something_ that will make the fighting stop.

The door slams shut behind them and Anya paces like a caged animal, eyes flickering from fighter to fighter. They close in around them, weapons raised and eyes brimming with fury. Clarke can’t remember the last time she saw so much hate. Her own people bang furiously on the walls. She can hear it too.

“Anya, we can’t win,” she says when her heda raises her sword, prepares to go out with a fight.

The Skaikru move in closer, Miller at the forefront. His fist connects with Anya’s jaw and she stumbles backwards. 

“Wells, help!” Clarke calls, but he’s distracted, hunched over something with Jasper. She looks to the others for help, but even Harper lowers her eyes. She’s on her own. 

Wells finally notices what’s happening, which is good timing, because Anya is on the floor back and Miller has a knife. Two other boys have Clarke in hand, holding her back until they finish with Anya. Wells’ shout seems to bounce off the walls. “We are not Grounders!”

He pushes through the crowd and stands in front of Anya. “Enough people died already and it isn’t over yet. We’re not executing anyone.” He points to Anya. “Tie her up.” He looks at Clarke. “Let her go.” Reluctantly, the others follow orders.

He pulls Clarke aside. Jasper is still fiddling with some kind of radio device, mumbling to himself as he works. 

Wells looks repentant. “You’re not going to like what happens next.”

Clarke regards him warily. “What happens next?”

“Got it!” Jasper yells and the room goes silent as the dropship roars to life. It shakes and screams and the temperature climbs a good twenty degrees and just when Clarke thinks the ship is going to explode, it’s over. 

“Do you think it worked?” Clarke thinks she heard Fox’s voice.

Wells sounds exhausted. “We won’t find out for a few hours.” He addresses the group. “Try to get some sleep. We’re going to be here for the night.” He points to the table they used for Finn’s surgery. “If you need medical treatment, line up over there.”

Clarke grabs his elbow before he can shy away. “What did you do?” She practically spits the words she’s so angry.

With each second that trickles by, he looks guiltier. Finally, he raises his chin and meets her eyes. “We fired the rockets.” 

“I don’t understand. I’ve been in a dropship. We didn’t go anywhere.”

“We only wanted to blast off. If we could draw the army in and create a ring of fire…”

“Barbecued Grounders,” Clarke finishes for him. “There were hundreds of people out there!”

“They were the enemy,” he says softly. “Your people made it clear that we were at war.” He gazes around the room at the assembled teenagers. Some are laughing and some are crying, but most are sitting silently, staring into space and thinking about what they did. Thinking about how they _burned people alive._

She’s still trying to process his news when she finishes her sweep of the room and realizes there’s no one with black curls and a cluster of freckles across his nose. “Where’s Bellamy?” 

Wells looks like he might cry. “He didn’t make it into the dropship. Neither did Finn or Octavia.”

Clarke stares blankly. “You let them die.”

He blinks back tears. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but I had to think about the greater good.” 

“I need...” she starts, but there’s nowhere to go. The fresh air she craves is beyond her reach. Like Bellamy. Lincoln. Octavia. _Indra_. She lets out a strangled cry. Everyone she ever loved just went up in flames. 

She lets Wells hold her, feels his shoulders tremble too, cries until her eyelids feel like there’s sand trapped underneath them. She rubs her nose and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I have some news that might make it a little better.”

She gives him an incredulous stare.

“I kept my promise not to tell your mom that you’re on the ground, but my dad didn’t hold up his end of the bargain.”

“My mom knows I’m alive,” she whispers.

Wells nods. “I was hoping you could talk to her yourself, but we never got the radio working again after Unity Day. You saw that ship fall. Your mom was on it. You can see her again.”

“My mom knows I’m alive,” she repeats. _Her mom_. Her priorities shift, change, refocus. It doesn’t ease the aching grief that’s taken up residence in her chest, but it’s easier to go on living when she has something to live for. 

“You’re welcome to stay with us.” He glances towards the back of the dropship where Miller is keeping watch over Anya. “No pressure either way. I know they’re your people too.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s pause. “Thank you.” She doesn’t think she’ll take him up on the offer, but it’s a kind gesture. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go.

“Do you think you could do a favor for me?” He still looks guilty, which makes her curious.

“What?”

“Raven has a bullet in her spine. Could you examine her?” 

It’s a bad injury and the exact distraction she was looking for. Fixing Raven could take hours. Days. However long she needs to forget her loved ones are dead and gone. “Let me get my pack.”

Wells handles the other injuries while she works on Raven. He cauterized the wound to stop the external bleeding, but Clarke’s worried about the massive bruise steadily spreading up the length of Raven’s spine. She’s bleeding internally and can’t feel her legs. Neither are good signs. 

“What’s the diagnosis?” Raven’s words are slurred with pain. 

“Drink this.” Clarke helps her to a sitting position so she can sip a goldenseal root tea that’s been laced with laudanum. The former will slow the bleeding while the latter will help with the pain. Clarke hopes it will be enough to get Raven through the night.

The laudanum helps Raven drift in and out of consciousness while Clarke checks her vitals. Her pulse is slow and steadily dropping. Making it until morning is looking less and less likely.

“I broke up with Finn.”

Clarke adjusts the blanket. “You should rest, Raven. Don’t waste your strength by talking.”

Raven’s determined, and emboldened by the laudanum. “I came down here because of him, to warn everyone about the culling, but mostly for him.” She pauses and licks her lips. Clarke helps her sip water. “When Bellamy asked who’d plant the bomb, I hesitated.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I told myself it was what people do when they’re considering something that might blow them up, but that wasn’t it. How do you fall out of love with your family?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.” She looks away before the truth slaps her in the face. Whatever chance she had at love ended before it even began.

Raven’s face twists. “You’re lucky. It makes people stupid. Finn came down here because of something I did. He said it didn’t matter, but it did. Every time he looked at me, he saw all the things he lost because of me.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“It’s what I saw when I looked at him, all the ways I could never repay him for what he sacrificed for me. He deserved better and I…”

“Raven?” Clarke hurries to check her pulse. It’s barely thumping but it’s there. “Raven?” 

The other girl opens bloodshot eyes. “I'm not gone yet.” She looks around, eyes focusing on the dirty ceiling. “I used to be picked first for everything. Earth Skills, Zero-G Mech course. First every time. So how the hell did I end up here?” Tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

Clarke decides a bit of positive reinforcement might do the trick. It won’t cure what ails her, but it can’t hurt. At the least, Raven’s final moments won’t be lonely. “You came down here by yourself. You rebuilt the radio. I have a feeling you’re responsible for the mines and blastoff.” She swallows hard at the mention of the last two achievements. “I’d pick you first. Look at all you can do.”

It’s true. If her people had Raven on their side, the outcome would have been different. Picking _sides._ It makes her sick to her stomach. They’ve spent so much energy trying to kill each other when they have real problems to deal with. Ripas. Mounde. She vows then and there, that she’s done with allegiances. Skaikru or Trikru or even Azgeda, every life is precious.

Raven has fallen asleep and there’s little else Clarke can do for her, so she joins Wells’ makeshift clinic. Harper is next in line and Clarke struggles to examine an arrow wound to her arm. The light in the dropship is awful and she squints to make out the extent of the damage. 

Harper keeps her eyes glued to the floor. If the arrow were poisoned, she would have started seizing hours ago, so Clarke applies some yarrow and digs around for a bandage. 

“I’m sorry,” Harper finally says.

Clarke focuses on wrapping the bandage. “For what?” 

“I should have stepped in before. You taught us to defend ourselves and when you needed help, I didn’t lift a finger. I hope you can forgive me.”

“We all make mistakes,” Clarke says softly and ties off the bandage. She remembers thinking she could never forgive Bellamy for his betrayals, but then she did, and it was as easy as breathing. She didn’t think Bellamy would make the same mistakes again. She doesn’t think Harper will either. 

Harper smiles gratefully and hops off the table. Clarke finishes bandaging minor wounds and goes to check on Anya, tied up in a far corner of the dropship.

“Natrona,” Anya hisses as Clarke examines her wrists. So far, no rope burn, but she rubs in some yarrow just in case.

“I’m a healer,” Clarke says calmly. She meets Anya’s furious gaze. “I heal people, regardless of where they were born.”

“Emo laik baga!” _They are the enemy!_

Clarke suddenly feels so tired she can barely hold her head up. How can people be enemies when they’ve never even met? “Osir nou laik baga, ba lukot. Osir nou souda baga.” _We are not enemies but friends. We must not be enemies._

“Yu laik stedaunon gon ai,” Anya bites out. _You are dead to me._

Clarke retreats to her own corner to ride out the rest of the night. She didn’t think her mission would be easy, but she also didn’t think it would be this hard. Even after her people were burned to ash, Anya still refuses to consider peace. Clarke rests her head against the wall and tries to block it all out.

The night passes impossibly slowly. She checks on Raven and a few others with arrow wounds, but mostly sits in her corner and thinks about all she’s lost. When dawn finally breaks, it feels like the longest night of her life even though it’s only been a few hours.

They blink in unison when Wells opens the door and step into the bright sunshine. It highlights the graveyard of charred bones and blackened skeletons. The smell of roasted meat fills the air. Bile rises into Clarke’s throat and behind her, someone screams. For as far as they can see, there’s nothing but burned bodies.

Jasper is the first to notice the red smoke and then it’s all around them, clogging the air like a cloud of blood.

“Mounde,” Anya whispers and collapses awkwardly on her bound hands. Clarke isn’t far behind.

She thinks of the star they saw fall from the sky. She wills it to bring nothing but hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of the second part. Next time, we move into my reimagining of season two. Thanks as always for the support, comments, and reviews.


	7. The Path of the Righteous: Part I

 

* * *

 

_Prologue_

Many years ago, when the earth was no longer young, there came a night that lasted a generation. It began with fire that turned to ash, thick and clotted like spoiled cream, the color of death, so much fire and ash and the people drowned in it. Countries fell. Cities burned. The survivors went underground while the sun slipped from the sky and the cold seeped into their bones. Children were born and old men died and all they ever saw was night.

The darkness faded and the sun awoke, but new monsters lurked in the trees. They had their own fire that blistered and burned. They laughed as wives wept for the husbands they stole. The mountain took more than its share. No one ever came back.

The old ones say a girl will lead them into the light. A girl with a body like a laurel and eyes like an owl, with thighs like a deer and a voice soft and clear as a hummingbird’s. With a heart like a wolf’s. Each commander rises and falls and still the mountain takes. Her people wait, but they give her a name.

They call her Wanheda. _Savior._

 

* * *

 

She’s not dead. 

It’s Clarke’s first thought when wakes up in a room so starkly white it hurts her eyes. She feels a bit like the girl she was at five, blinking in the bright sunshine, trying to make sense of how much her life had changed.

Her people lost a war. Hundreds of them died. _The Maunon came._

Slowly, she pushes to a sitting position and tries to find her bearings.

The floor is cold against the soles of her feet and there’s a tube in her arm. Her hair is loose and she’s wearing new clothes. Clean clothes. Someone stripped her bare and scrubbed her skin. She shudders and rips the tube from her arm. There’s furniture in the room, a couch and toilet and sink. She stares at them for a long minute, the cold steel and cool chrome – they remind her too much of the Ark.

She finds the painting interesting in its insanity, a starry sky painted in thick spirals and swirls. It makes her think of the first time she and Kolya ate jobi nuts. They’d spent hours staring at the night sky, reaching for stars they’d thought were close enough to touch. She turns away from the painting – it reminds her too much of home.

Her feet wear treads into the smooth white tiles as she paces the room and tries to figure out what to do. It takes a while for her head to clear, before she can pad to the door and examine what’s outside her prison. The room across the hall is empty, but she can see the sign clearly: Mount Weather Quarantine Ward. Her pacing turns frantic. She can’t stay in this room another minute. 

What happens next is stupid. She smashes the window open but in her desperation, forgets to clear the broken glass. She knows better, can already hear Indra muttering under her breath as the blood drips down her wrist. _Indra_. She blinks away a sudden rush of tears and concentrates on turning the door handle. She can’t bring back her nomon but she can make it out of this place. She grits her teeth against the throbbing pain in her arm and picks up a piece of glass. She can hear Indra praising her choice. The shard is large and jagged – a suitable weapon. She hopes she won’t have to use it.

Two minutes later, it’s at a girl’s throat, digging through the flimsy fabric of her protective suit. It makes Clarke think of her first day at the dropship, of the hatchet Bellamy held to her throat while his broad chest pressed into her back and she doesn’t mean to, but thinking about Bellamy makes her lose control and she digs the glass deeper. The girl whimpers but Clarke ignores her and tightens her grip. Bellamy is dead but her mom is out there. Getting out of this room isn’t a choice. 

She doesn’t expect the events that follow, the soft music and children’s laughter, Jasper and Fox bumping elbows as they reach for platters of food. She stands in the doorway, weak from blood loss, when a woman screams. The music stops and every head turns, men and women and children, all well-fed and well-dressed, like they know nothing of war. 

Her legs begin to give out and she reaches for a support, collapses in a heap when she finds none. Her eyelids feel so heavy and she can’t think much past the pain in her arm, but she sees him clearly, hair white as snow and eyes like a storm. He smiles and she screams.

 

* * *

 

Clarke opens her eyes and its more white. She’s wearing a hospital gown, clean and pristine as the white walls, and she’s getting really tired of these people taking off her clothes. A doctor watches her closely, scribbles something in a chart as Clarke groggily tries to sit up.

“You were sedated.” There’s another tube in her arm, but Clarke thinks better of trying to rip it out.

“What happened?”

“You passed out from blood loss – ”

“That doesn’t require sedation.”

The doctor smiles tightly. “We wanted to give you time to rest.” She puts down her clipboard. “I’m Dr. Tsing. I’ll be supervising your care.”

Clarke finally makes it to that sitting position. “I want to see…” She trails off, searches for the right word. Wells and Monty aren’t her people, but they’re most definitely not her enemy either. “I want to see the others.”

Again, that tight, strained smile. “Of course.” Tsing removes the tube. “I’ll be right outside when you’re done changing.” 

There’s a dress at the foot of the bed, with a collar and full skirt, made from a fabric the same color as a clear sky. There’s a thick white bandage covering Clarke’s forearm, and she must be on painkillers because the wound doesn’t hurt. Her head does feel fuzzy so she guesses some kind of opiate – she makes a mental note to avoid medication in the future.

As promised, Tsing is waiting outside the exam room, watching Clarke closely when she appears in her borrowed clothes. It’s strange walking around without pants, feet clad in flat shoes with bows over the toes. She’s never worn anything so impractical. The dress is soft though and floats around her thighs when she walks. She ignores how nice the fabric feels against her bare skin. There are more important matters that need her attention.

She keeps her eyes open as she follows Tsing to Level 5, takes in every hallway, every nook and cranny, every doorway and emergency exit and stairwell. She’s learned her lesson about rash decision-making, but her resolve is just as strong – no matter how long she has to fight, she won’t let the Mountain take her too.

Tsing leaves her in the dorms with a welcome packet and a warning to take it easy. It should have come across as a casual, chiding reminder, but from Tsing, it’s more like a threat. Clarke stares into her dark, unblinking eyes and forces an embarrassed smile. She thinks even Indra would be proud – she knows something of wearing masks.

Clarke’s surprised by the reactions she receives. Relations were cordial but strained that night in the dropship; the only people who’d talked to her were Raven, Harper, and Wells. Raven isn’t among the assembled teenagers, but Monty hugs her the second she appears, skinny arms holding tight with surprising strength. “I’m glad you’re here. This place is so weird.” There’s something in his voice that makes Clarke think he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, and his shifty gaze in Jasper’s direction confirms it. 

“I’m glad you’re here too,” she says and lets him go so she can embrace Wells. His arms are thicker and his hug is even tighter, but it feels good, steady and strong, like Lincoln used to be. Like Bellamy could have been. She lets Wells hold her a moment longer than necessary.

Fox and Harper are next while Miller watches her with an implacable expression. “Way to make an entrance,” he says dryly. 

Clarke can’t say she’s happy to see him, but appreciates his stoic steadiness. She politely nods in return. Later, she can tell Monty and Wells what she knows of the Mounde, but not now, not surrounded by battle-scarred teenagers. Many of them still regard her as the enemy even though they’re all stuck in the here together.

She takes Wells’ elbow and pulls him away from the suspicious crowd. “What happened?”

He scratches his head. “I’m not really sure. We woke up in these white rooms. We’d been treated, bathed, changed.” He grimaces. “They said they saved us, that we can start new lives here.” His voice drops. “This place is too good to be true.”

Clarke exhales, glad she has Wells on her team. She feels eyes on her, turns to find a girl with a lank blonde ponytail watching them. She’s too well-fed to have come from the dropship. “Later,” Clarke whispers as she pulls away from Wells. “I’ll find you later.”

Later comes after dinner – some kind of roasted meat and vegetables – and Clarke sits between Wells and Harper while she pokes at her food. A girl plops down beside Jasper, all messy black hair and downcast eyes, and it takes Clarke a moment to recognize her. She feels guilty for the first time since this nightmare began. Only a few hours earlier, she held a shard of broken glass to the same girl’s throat.

If she hadn’t put it together, Jasper’s glare does the work for her. “You were almost out of decontamination,” he says. “You didn’t have to threaten her.”

“Jasper, it’s okay,” the girl says. “I can imagine how scary it must have been to wake up in a strange place.” Tentatively, she extends a hand. “I’m Maya.”

“Clarke,” she says and accepts Maya’s hand. Her skin is soft and smooth. Clarke prides herself on clean nails and cuticles, but there are callouses on her palms from long hours at the mortar and pestle. She lets go of Maya’s hand and hides hers in her lap. She has nothing in common with these people. Even their skin feels different. 

Jasper is still glaring and Maya takes his hand. “C’mon. I know where we can find more chocolate cake.”

Clarke watches them go, unsure how to feel. Maya was forgiving and kind, but she knows better than to trust these people. Something red flashes out of the corner of her eye. A camera. Nowhere is safe in this place.

“I think that’s the first time he’s really touched a girl,” Monty says, breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Do you trust her?” She keeps an eye on the camera, keeps her voice low.

Monty ponders for a moment. “As much as any of them.”

Miller leans in. “How can you trust anyone that dresses like this?” He mutinously undoes the top button of his shirt, revealing the faintest sliver of skin. 

She studies the map she found in the welcome packet. It’s mostly living quarters and work units, but there’s a large dark space next to the hospital ward that isn’t labeled. “Do you know what’s here?”

Wells sighs. “Maya would know.”

Clarke watches her and Jasper. They’re sitting in a pair of armchairs, laughing as they feed each other slices of cake. A piece of red plastic sits next to Maya’s elbow. A keycard. Clarke made her use it to access the elevator during her first escape attempt. It would be easy to go over there and apologize, steal the keycard from right under Maya’s nose, but it’s too risky. If she’s caught again, the Mounde might not be so forgiving.

A man appears at her shoulder.

“Ms. Griffin,” he says. The monster is the same, with that white hair and those stormy blue eyes, but she doesn’t scream this time. Indra is in her head, along with a memory of the first time she held a spear. “Nou teik your kwelnes breik au,” her nomon had said. _Do not let your fear break free._ Clarke looks into the man’s icy blue eyes and keeps her face blank. He smiles at her. “I’m Dante Wallace, President of the Mount Weather colony.” She takes his offered hand. It’s cool and dry, almost lifeless compared to her own. “Come,” he says and gestures towards the exit. “We should speak.”

Clarke silently follows him to a cluttered office. The walls are lined with paintings and she stops to study a sun-soaked landscape, can’t help but admire the vibrant dots that come together and create a vivid picture. She can almost imagine that she’s there. 

“It’s the French countryside.” Dante says, his words bringing her back to the reality of where she is: in the Mountain, at his mercy, plotting her escape with every breath she takes. He continues speaking as he takes a seat behind his desk. “Pissarro to be exact. A lucky acquisition if you ask me.” 

She didn’t ask but doesn’t correct him either, takes the chair opposite the desk and crosses her arms. There’s a bright orange flower trapped beneath a glass dome. She feels a kinship with it – they’re both things plucked from the outside against their will. 

He catches her looking. “My people collect them for me when they go topside.” He smiles sadly. “You see, we can’t go outside. The air, the water – the very ground is toxic. We’d die of radiation poisoning within minutes.”

Clarke is unmoved. She’s lived the majority of her life in fear of the Mountain, watched families mourn loved ones that simply disappeared. She raises her eyebrows. “So you gas and kidnap people.”

Dante’s smile tightens at the corners. “We’re only trying to keep everyone safe. Decontamination is required before entering the facility.” He looks pointedly at the bandage on her arm. “You scared a lot of people.”

She remembers the horrified expressions, the terrified screams. Children looked at her like some kind of monster. She feels guilty even though she didn’t do anything wrong. “What reason did I have to trust you?”

“None, from what I understand. You were born in space but raised on the ground?”

Clarke sits, frozen in her seat. This is likely it, the moment they take her out before she can share what she knows with the others. “Yes. I know all about the Mountain Men.” She manages to keep her voice level, but can’t quite keep the accusation from her eyes. 

Dante looks slightly pained. “Our relationship with the Topsiders has been strained, but I’m hoping we can start over. You’re very precious to us, Clarke.” He opens his desk drawer and she freezes again, but she doesn’t find herself staring into the barrel of a gun. She’s staring at her dad’s watch, resting in Dante’s palm. Her hand falls to her wrist and finds it bare. In all the confusion, she hadn’t realized the watch was missing. Dante smiles at her. “We had to decontaminate it first, but I thought you’d like it back. Think of it as a symbol of our new beginning.”

It should be an easy decision. She made the same agreement with Bellamy after he betrayed her, and yet, there’s an awkward pause before she can muster the strength to take the watch. Bellamy was different – kinder, stronger, truly repentant. When she looks into Dante’s eyes, she sees only calculating coldness. 

“To new beginnings,” she says but keeps her fingers crossed – it’s a promise she has no intention of keeping.

Wells is waiting when a guard deposits her in the dorms, gestures for Miller to turn on the radio before leading her to Monty’s bunk. 

“What did Dante want?” Wells asks. It’s hard to hear him over the music, but she doesn’t risk asking him to speak louder.

"Something about starting over. I think he’s worried I’ll start a rebellion.”

“Will you?” Monty asks. He worriedly glances at Jasper, dancing with Maya by the radio. Clarke knows it pains him to keep things from his friend, but Jasper feels differently about the Maunon and Clarke hasn’t entirely forgiven him for the dropship blasting off. Until she’s sure of his loyalty, he’s out of the loop. 

“I can’t stay here.” She gestures for the boys to huddle in even closer. “The only thing my people fear is the Maunon – the Mountain Men. They come into our woods with their guns and their gas and people disappear.” Her voice trembles. “No one comes back from the Mountain.”

Wells and Monty exchange a look. “It’s going to be a hard sell,” Wells finally says. He tilts his head towards the room full of laughing teenagers. “They have it good here.”

She doesn’t blame them. In the Mountain, they’re fed and clothed and entertained. There are no Trikru armies descending on their camp. But she knows better and she’s finding a way out, with or without them. She opts for the latter. “It will be easier on my own.” 

“Clarke – ” Wells starts.

“No,” she says firmly. “You need to listen to me. I know these woods. More people will only slow me down. We all saw the Ark fall. They’ll have guards and weapons. Once I have them, I’ll come back for everyone else.”

“You don’t know anyone on the Ark,” Wells says.

“My mom is there,” she says softly. “You said she never stopped believing that I was alive.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “My family is dead. Bellamy is dead. My mom is all I have left.” She bites her lip to keep it from trembling.

The boys exchange another look. “I guess I can stomach apple pie for a few more weeks,” Monty says.

Clarke manages a watery laugh. “It can’t hurt.” She sobers up. “For now, you’re invited guests. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

Wells sighs. “I really wanted to believe they just wanted to help.”

“Maybe they do, but I think there’s more to it.” She thinks of the strange decontamination process, the empty space by the hospital, the hundreds of her people that vanished into thin air. She _knows_ something isn’t right.

“Okay,” Monty says. “Tomorrow, we plan.”

She’s still alive the next morning and keeps her head down during breakfast. Just because they haven’t killed her yet doesn’t mean they won’t. She smiles politely when she buses her tray and picks up a soccer ball for a little boy and does her best to blend in, to seem remorseful for her crime. The less she stands out, the easier it will be to slip away.

After breakfast comes work assignments, an assortment of unskilled jobs that don’t require training or security clearances. Keenan of the lank, blonde ponytail claims that her superiors tried to match the Sky People with things they already know, but Clarke still ends up in the laundry despite showing them her caduceus tattoo. She doesn’t understand it – repeatedly dunking her arms in cold water won’t be good for her healing wound – but she doesn’t complain either. She remembers the washers in tonDC. They knew all the village’s secrets, all the important details of their neighbors' lives. Clarke can’t think of a better way to uncover all the things the Maunon don’t want her to know. She smiles brightly and reports for duty.

Laundry is different in the Mountain. She doesn’t spend her days scrubbing clothes against ragged river rocks. Mostly, she puts things in one set of machines to clean them and another set of machines for drying. She learns nothing of interest other than the Maunon’s preference for khaki uniforms. 

Every morning she wakes up and she’s still alive is a surprise. She eats breakfast and reports to work and waits for something to go wrong, for Dante to pull her from her bed and put that bullet between her eyes for knowing too much, for seeing the truth behind his pretty words. It doesn’t happen and she always feels like she can’t quite catch her breath.

Most nights she plays cards with Monty and Wells, Miller and Harper now too, trading information over hands of poker. They don’t learn much. A week passes and they’re exactly where they started. It makes Clarke want to punch something, but not enough to risk a return trip to the hospital and another dose of opiates.

Then, a boiler breaks and it somehow translates to a shortage of sheets and towels. Marian, the harried manager of the laundry, dumps a pile of freshly pressed linens into Clarke’s arms and tells her to take them to the hospital. The hospital! Clarke nods in acknowledgement and forces herself to walk at a normal pace. There’s no need to draw attention to herself on when she’s on the verge of a breakthrough. She keeps her head low after dropping off a few sets of sheets in the main ward, and maybe it’s her neatly braided hair or unremarkable behavior, but no one stops her when she enters the corridor with the individual exam rooms. There’s a burst of noise and two guards in protective suits appear, dragging a third man between them. He’s covered in blisters and burns, gasping for breath through seared lungs. Clarke holds the sheets to her chest and stares, struck by a sudden vision of Atom in the woods. “Kill me,” he’d begged and she had, ended his life to end his suffering. She hopes this man’s people will be as merciful.

Tsing rushes in behind them, expression pinched when she spots Clarke. “What are you doing here? Only patients are allowed in the hospital.” 

Clarke holds out the linens, averts her eyes as the guards disappear into a private room. “Fresh sheets. Marian sent me.”

“Thanks,” Tsing says tersely and takes the sheets. “I’ll see that these are distributed.” Her dark, predatory eyes bore into Clarke’s. “Was there something else?”

“No.” Clarke bows her head and hurries out of the hospital wing. As she walks the halls, she keeps her head down to hide her smile from the cameras. It’s only when she’s back in the laundry, a sheet billowing around her face, that she lets her excitement show. Just the slightest bit of progress feels like a win.

She tries to tell Wells and Monty about it after dinner, but she can’t catch them before roll call, and then she has to act. It’s too soon – she doesn’t have provisions or supplies or even a plan – but the opportunity presents itself and there’s no choice but to take it. She’s standing in line when the guard from the hospital walks into the dorm on his own two feet. His skin is smooth and unblemished and he _laughs_ when another guard asks him about his treatments. Clarke does her best not to stare. Whatever happened to that guard, it’s the answer she’s been looking for.

 _“Only patients are allowed in the hospital.”_ Tsing’s words repeat in her head as she paces in front of her bunk while the others play cards or dance. She scratches absently at the bandage on her arm, trying to create friction between the tape and her skin. The wound on her arm…she slips behind the bunk, out of view of both dorm mates and cameras.

Clarke pulls back the bandage and studies the neat rows of stitches lacing her skin back together. It’s easy, the plan she’s crafted, but can she really pull out her own stitches? Indra’s voice sounds in her head, “Taim yu ste kwelen, yu na wan op.” _If you are weak, you will die._ She knows she’s being weak. For seven days, all she’s thought about is getting out of the Mountain, discovering its secrets and rescuing the others. She can’t back down now.

She closes her eyes and wishes for luck, to Lincoln and Kolya and Octavia and Bellamy and Indra most of all. She raises her arm and lets the blood flow.

 

* * *

 

For the third time, Clarke wakes in the hospital. A quick story about tripping and ripping open her wound had done the trick, and she’d refused painkillers when they stitched her back together. It had hurt terribly, but had been worth it to keep her wits about her. The nap had been for the nurse’s benefit. She can’t exactly explore with an onlooker lurking about. 

As soon as she’s alone, she slips into her strange flat shoes and tiptoes down the length of the ward. There are two other patients sleeping peacefully along the far wall, and Clarke’s been itching to examine them since they brought her in. They were in far worse condition then, blistered and burned like the guard from the dorm, but a few hours later, they’re practically good as new. Boils pockmark their exposed skin, but even those seem to be healing. She’d call it a miracle, except she knows better – nothing in the Maunde happens by chance. 

She studies the two prone bodies hooked up to a variety of tubes. It’s the widest one, thick and pulsing a deep, rich red, that catches her attention. It doesn’t connect to a monitor or machine, but climbs the white, white wall and disappears into a crack in the ceiling. She needs to get behind that wall. She opens a door and prays it’s the right one.

The room is a dark, dingy gray, with a metal floor and grime-streaked walls, so different from the rest of the Mountain. Cages, in neat rows, are stacked almost to the ceiling, and inside, are people. _Her people_. Beyond the cages, a gona hangs from her ankles, her tattoos starkly blue against steadily bleaching skin. The girl’s blood neatly leaves her body through one of the Mountain’s tubes. She stares with wide, lifeless eyes. Clarke clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Of all the things the Trikru thought happened in the Mountain, they never imagined this. It’s more than being trapped. These people – her people – are being drained of their blood, slaughtered like their lives mean nothing. Sacrificed so the Mountain can live. Clarke’s hands curl into fists. Her chest feels tight, hot with rage. She will do more than escape. She’ll make the Maunon pay.

Slowly, she steps into the dim light, and is met with a chorus of low wails. Prisoners gape at her from their cages, lips curling into ugly snarls when they see her pretty blue dress and neat braid. 

“Ripa,” they taunt. _Murderer._

Clarke holds out her hands in Trigedakru style to show she means no harm. “Ai laik Klark kom Trikru. Ai na sis yo au.” _I am Clarke of the Woods Clan. I will help you all._

A pretty girl with long dark hair stares at her from a second-story cage. “Non na sis oso au.” _No one can help us._

“Ai na – ” Clarke starts, but another voice breaks in, razor sharp in its hatred.

“Natrona,” Anya hisses. “Yu laik Klark kom _Skaikru_.” She says it as an insult, but Clarke just hurries to her heda’s cage. It’s on the ground level and Clarke kneels down before her.

“Anya! You’re alive!” 

“Natrona,” Anya repeats, but Clarke ignores her.

“There’s no time for that.” She fumbles with the lock. “I’ll need your help to get us out of here.”

Anya glares mutinously while Clarke bangs at the lock with a length of pipe. The others reach for her, thin, frail fingers clinging to the fabric of her dress. It eats at her, the need to help everyone, but she can only do so much. First Anya, then the Ark, then they bring the down the Mountain. Finally, the lock springs open and despite her anger towards Clarke, Anya doesn’t turn down the opportunity to be free. 

They don’t make it more than three steps before voices ring down the corridor and then they’re scrambling into the cage, both of them, trying to fit their bodies in the already too-small space. There’s a series of clicking sounds and Anya grabs for the lock. Clarke peers into the gloom.

Tsing walks down the space between the cages, her high heels making the clicking noises. A man walks at her side, his steps nearly silent on the worn metal floor. 

“How many cages to do you need cleared this week? I’ll send a surface team if we’re running low.” 

They pause a few cages away. All Clarke can see is their shoes, but they still feel vaguely threatening. “None,” Tsing says. “I’m trying something new.”

“Oh yeah?”

“We ran blood work on all the space kids. Radiation levels up there are higher than on the ground. That means those kids can metabolize it even faster than the Topsiders. I think…” She pauses, and Clarke imagines Tsing’s face lighting up with excitement. She can already hear it in her voice. “I think it’s time to move to Phase 2. We’ll start with the Grounder girl. The others won’t care if it goes wrong.” Another pause. Clarke imagines Tsing smiling. “Or if it goes right.”

“And what if it does?”

Tsing laughs, low and menacing. “The ground is our birthright,” she says softly. “Nothing can stand in our way.” They start walking again, laughing together in a room filled with caged people.

Once they’re gone, Clarke opens the cage with trembling fingers. Tsing and her partner don’t know that all gonas speak Gonasleng – English – that they’ve understood perfectly every conversation carried out in their prison, that they’ve gone to their deaths knowing exactly what was in store for them. She can’t imagine sitting in those cages day after day, waiting for the click of those heels and the turn of the lock. She’d been hoping to sneak back to the dorm and let Monty and Wells in on her plan, but there’s no time. She needs to get out of here tonight. Whatever it is, she can’t let Phase 2 happen.

Anya leans heavily against her side, but Clarke isn’t ready to leave yet. So many pairs of eyes are watching her in the silent chamber, boring into her as she stands free. She has to leave them behind but she wants to leave them with hope.

“Yu gonplei ste nou odon,” she cries, not loud, but forceful, so they’ll believe her. If she can make it out, they can too, but not if they give up.

A moment passes in the achingly quiet room but then there’s a bang against a cage door, and then another, and then another, and then the entire room is filled with banging doors. It’s like a song, so many voices coming together to show their strength. Clarke smiles, her first real smile since she came to this place. She shifts Anya’s weight and takes her first step towards freedom.

 

* * *

 

It gets worse. The only exits are the hospital ward or following Tsing, and Clarke knows it won’t take long before someone notices that she’s missing. The alarm bells will sound and the next time they drag her into a white, white room, they’ll finally put that bullet between her eyes. She’s not looking forward to tumbling down a trash chute, but it’s better than dying.

She lands on a pile of bodies. _Bodies_. The fall seems to have jarred Anya’s muscles to life because she jumps to her feet and darts down a tunnel. Clarke stares blankly, someone’s _broken thighbone_ digging painfully into her hip. Hurriedly, she climbs out of the cart and tries to figure out where she is. Underground, she thinks, from the roughly carved tunnels and caked-dirt floors. Everything is made of stone and streaked with blood. It’s a horrifying combination of man and nature that makes her want to be anywhere else. 

Anya appears, her gait growing steadier with each step. “I think I found a way out.” Clarke blinks at her. Anya’s dressed Trikru, even though she came down the chute in underwear. She shoves a pile of clothes in Clarke’s direction. “We don’t have much time.” She gives Clarke a disgusted look when she doesn’t immediately take the clothes. “You look like one of them,” she sneers.

Clarke snatches the clothes and quickly puts them on. The boots fit well, but the pants and shirt are a bit tight. With no way of fixing it, she gives up tugging on the shirt hem and follows Anya into the darkness.

Then, they hear the voices. They’re loud – inhuman – and Clarke’s heard them before. She remembers, the night her brother died, the grunts and cries that filled the clearing when she left Kolya behind and _ran_. She looks at Anya, but hears only Indra. “Yu laik yuj bilaik yu na teik yu laik.” _You’re only as strong as you let yourself be._ She reaches for a large rock, the best she can do for a weapon. She’s lost so much. She won’t lose herself too.

“Run,” she yells and they do, dodging Ripas and Maunon alike. 

They’re everywhere, filling the tunnels with their screams and commands, but still Clarke runs. She runs until their backs are against the wall, a wall of water, and she can feel the spray on the back of her neck as they inch closer to the edge. The Reapers are nearly on them, laughing through mouths filled with jagged teeth as their eyes hone in on their next meal. Clarke swallows hard and takes a nervous step back. A loud buzzing noise pierces the air, and it’s annoying to her but has a stronger effect on the Reapers, because they collapse in heaps while holding their ears. It’s only then, when they’re so close, that she sees they’re wearing Trikru clothes. Her own people are the enemy. She balls her hands into fists and stops retreating. She wants to do so much more than just bring down the Mountain. She wants it gone from the earth. 

The Maunon move in next, guns trained neatly on their targets’ heads. “Surrender and no one gets hurt.”

Anya and Clarke exchange a look. They both know better than to let down their guard. Several of the Reapers stir, pushing to their knees. Clarke watches the Maunon pull electronic devices with blue lights from their pockets. Their thumbs hover over the button. 

“Last chance.”

Without a second glance, Anya jumps, disappears into the heavy rush of water pounding into the reservoir below. Clarke watches, impressed and terrified, because she knows she’s next. Not just to follow Anya’s example, but because there’s no other alternative. It’s give in or jump and she chooses the waterfall.

She takes a few steps forward and holds up her hands like she’s surrendering. The guards lower their rifles. She takes a deep breath for courage and it’s then that she sees them, the brown eyes of a Reaper on his knees at her feet. It makes her lose her balance, the familiarity in those eyes, and she trips over the edge and loses most of the distance she should have put between herself and the dam’s wall. What little hope she had of surviving this journey is pretty much gone but she isn’t scared. She doesn’t panic as she spins head over feet and tumbles towards the dark water below. She thinks about the warmth in those eyes, the laugher hiding in their dark depths. She’s glad she could see her brother one more time.

 

* * *

 

Clarke opens her eyes and she still isn’t dead.

She blinks a few times, expecting a stark white ceiling, but she’s staring up at a bright blue sky. She made it over the falls. A laugh bubbles up through her chest and she doesn’t try to stop it. She feels too good breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on her face. She’s _free_. 

“Shof op.” Anya’s sitting a few feet away with her knees drawn to her chest and a furious glare on her face. 

It’s then that Clarke realizes her hands are bound and it’s not just the sun warming her skin. She has a head wound that’s clumsily bound with a strip of cloth from her shirt, blood still oozing from the cut. She winces and pushes to a sitting position without use of her hands. “Why am I tied up?” Anya stands and takes Clarke with her. Her bound hands are connected to a rope attached to Anya’s belt. Clarke gapes at her. After what they saw in the Mountain, the near death they almost experienced going over the falls, she can’t believe they’re back to where they started. “You can’t be serious.” 

Anya ignores her and starts walking, Clarke stumbling along after her. “Do not think I forgot what you did for the bagas.” 

Even though Anya can’t see, Clarke rolls her eyes. “You saw what goes on in the Maunon. The Skaikru are not our enemy.”

Anya turns quickly and Clarke fights to stay on her feet. “Nau osir don mo baga.” _Now we have more enemies_. She tugs hard on the rope and trudges deeper into the forest. 

Clarke struggles to keep up and doesn’t mention it again. Anya is a hardliner, set in her ways, and she’ll need more than words to change her mind. She tries not to hold it against her heda; Indra would have done the same.

The Maunon follow them. Every hill they climb or path they choose, they’re a few yards behind. Many times, their bullets fall almost too close. Anya rages at Clarke but she won’t take the blame for this one. She points to a raised bump on Anya’s forearm. “It’s you.” Anya stares at the pulsing dot. “They’re tracking you.”

Anya doesn’t hesitate, sucks in a breath then sinks her teeth into the tender flesh of her arm. She smiles through bloody lips and spits out the small metal button, grinds it into the dirt beneath her Trikru boots. She turns back to Clarke. “Let’s go.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to smile, her wrist ties frayed and torn from rubbing them against a boulder’s jagged edge. She kicks Anya’s legs out from under her and rests her foot on Anya’s throat. “My turn.”

She drags Anya behind her all the way to the dropship, ignoring her heda’s continued stream of Trigedakru insults. There are supplies at the camp and maybe even weapons, things they’ll need to make it through the night. She tries to explain her plan to Anya but she still hisses at the mention of anything Skaikru. Eventually, Clarke gives up. She’ll have to work out a deal with the Ark on her own.

Sure enough, she finds her pack where she left it in dropship and immediately treats Anya’s arm. Her heda seethes but doesn’t turn down the medical attention. They find canteens too and a couple blankets, but no guns or knives. No sign of Raven either. Clarke can’t decide if it’s a good sign or bad. She hopes it’s good, especially when she sees the white powder staining the wall of the ship. It looks like the remnants of a message. Maybe the Ark was here, took Raven someplace safe.

Anya takes advantage of the situation and tugs her arms in a way that yanks Clarke off her feet. She lands hard on her back, jarring her already pounding head. By the time she clears the black spots from her vision, Anya is pounding away at her face. It goes on for some time as they fight for control, neither quite succeeding thanks to the length of rope binding them together. They battle with their hands and more. Anya smacks Clarke with a charred arm bone and Clarke cracks a gaping skull over Anya’s head. They stare at each other in horror. Fighting like this, they’re no better than the Maunon.

“Enough,” Anya says raggedly. “It is enough.”

Clarke falls to her knees and pulls Anya down with her. “We have to do this together.” She tugs on the rope to show the other woman how connected they already are. Clarke can appeal to the Ark, but Anya is a heda. They’ll need her authority to bring the Trikru to their cause. 

Anya nods tiredly. “What do you propose?”

“We go to the Ark and tell them what we saw. Many of the Skaikru have children in the Maunde. They’ll help us get everyone out.” Anya frowns and Clarke sighs. “They’re not our enemy,” she says again. 

“Okay,” Anya finally agrees. “I will go with you to the Ark and form an alliance to bring down the Maunde.” Her eyes are hard as she holds out her hand like the Skaikru. “After that, I make no promises.”

Clarke takes her hand and shakes. It’s not what she wanted but more than she thought she’d get. They can renegotiate terms of the treaty when their people – all their people – are home.

They travel through the night, the ropes cut from their wrists, but following the same course as they trek towards the Ark. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat when it comes into view. Her mom is there, all she has left in this world. It gives her the hope she needs to believe her plan will work. 

Shouts erupt around them. “Grounders! Grounders approaching!” 

Clarke opens her mouth to explain – they’re not enemies but friends! – but the bullets find them first. Anya dies in her arms right as a star shoots through the night sky. Clarke holds up her blood soaked hands as the bright lights shine down and her hope dries up. She knows better than to make a wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Note:** And now we move into season two with references from “Song of Ice and Fire” and [this fascinating NatGeo article](http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2015/06/nepal-kumaris/tree-text) about the kumari of Nepal. As always, thank you for the support – comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	8. The Path of the Righteous - Part II

 

* * *

 

The Ark isn’t how Clarke remembers it. 

In her head, it’s a living, breathing thing. It’s laughter and kisses at bedtime and cheering for the Brazilian national team. It’s moonrises and sunspots and supernovas exploding across endless space. It’s where she’d go when the Trikru were too harsh, or Indra was too mean, or she just _missed_ what her life used to be. She hasn’t been there in years but it’s where she tries to disappear as the guards drag her inside the gates. 

In her mind, it’s her last birthday in space and she’s sitting at her kitchen table, eating nutrition packs and pretending they’re anything else. It’s a game they play, her family, to break up the repetition of their days.

“Hamburger!” her mom laughs and takes a big bite of her dinner.

“Pizza,” her daddy exclaims and pretends to blow on his fork.

“Chocolate,” Clarke says and mimes unwrapping a candy bar like she saw in the movie. It gave her nightmares for weeks, and for months, she woke up terrified of finding a golden ticket.

“Chocolate,” she thinks as she’s pulled back to the present, helped along by the guards’ tight grip on her arms and her knees scraping over the rough ground. She spent a week in the Mountain and never did get to taste it.

She blinks and the Ark she remembers fades entirely, replaced with scratched metal walls and hostile citizens. Armed guards surround her. She swallows down a scream because she doesn’t see anything familiar – she only sees the Mountain.

A blonde woman presses forward. “Who are you?”

Clarke stares back, lips pressed into a taut line. Names have power and she’s no longer in the forest. She isn’t Klark kom Trigedakru here. She _can’t_ be Klark kom Trigedakru here. 

Names have power and she must choose hers well. “I’m Clarke Griffin,” she says and becomes a girl she hasn’t seen since her first night on the ground.

Noise erupts around her, whispers and shouting, so much noise and it’s all directed at her. She does her best to focus through the din. 

“I need to speak to Abby Griffin.” She pauses, struggles to remember her mother’s title. “ _Councilor_ Abby Griffin.”

The blonde woman reappears. “Get her inside.”

Clarke’s hauled to her feet and dragged through the dirt again. It’s so loud and so bright and her head still aches from her fight with Anya. She lets it hang, bites her lip to keep from crying out each time her boots catch on a rock or groove in the ground. It’s hard to believe she came this far, survived war and the Mountain, only to die at her own people’s hands.

“Wait!” It’s a woman’s voice, high-pitched and frantic.

Another woman speaks, likely the fierce blonde. “Once the prisoner’s secured.”

The first woman lets out an anguished cry. “She’s not a prisoner – she’s my daughter!” Footsteps sound on the hard-packed ground and then soft hands are cradling Clarke’s cheeks, brushing the tangled hair back from her face. “Clarke?” 

She looks up and squints at the woman before her. It’s a moment before she recognizes her, this faded version of her mom crouching in the dirt. The brown hair and eyes are the same, but the life is gone from them. This woman has been whittled down to skin and bones, grief carved into the exhausted planes of her face. Abby Griffin might have believed her daughter alive, but she still grieved every minute of the years she was gone.

“Mom?” she whispers and her mother smiles, the kind of smile that takes years off her face, so Clarke can see the mother she remembers with the laughing eyes and warm grin. She smiles too, although it’s hard keeping it steady through the sobs bursting from her chest. She falls into her mom’s arms, right there on the muddy ground, a tangled mess of arms and legs and so many tears. 

Someone clears her throat. “Ma’am, we need to confirm the prisoner’s identity.”

“I’m Clarke Griffin,” she repeats.

Abby tightens her grip. “She’s my daughter, Byrne.”

Byrne looks both pained and apologetic. “I hope she is, but without proof, she’s still a hostile. I need her to come with me.”

With Abby’s help, Clarke climbs to her feet, although her mom bears much of her weight. It’s not just her head she realizes – every part of her body hurts. She doesn’t know how much longer she can stand with help let alone make it through an interrogation. She sways on her feet and reaches out a hand for balance, her watch’s glass face glinting in the harsh lights. Her watch! She pulls her arm free and tugs it off, turns it over so Byrne can see the words etched into the metal. _To Clark, with love._

“It was my grandfather’s,” she says while Byrne inspects the inscription. “I’m named for him.”

Another voice pipes up, a soft-spoken guard with a face that reminds Clarke of Lincoln’s. “I remember that watch. It belonged to Jake Griffin.”

Byrne nods, satisfied. “Welcome to Camp Jaha, Clarke Griffin.” 

She tries to say thank you but her feet give out entirely and not-Lincoln catches her before she hits the ground. “We need to get her to medical,” Abby says and off they go.

The guard carries her like precious cargo, taking careful steps to keep from jostling her head. It’s a kind gesture, but Clarke thinks there’s more to it. He has a look on his face like he wants to say something. 

“My son was on the dropship. Nathan Miller, did you know him?”

She never learned Miller’s first name, but she sees the same stoic steadiness in the guard’s eyes. A nod is too much effort, but she manages a small smile. “He’s alive.” 

The joy on the guard’s face is enough to make up for the pain that smile caused. “Where is he – ” he starts but then they’re at the Ark and Abby is calling for saline and a pressure dressing and Clarke’s lying on something soft and there’s a pillow under her aching head. She closes her eyes and sinks into blessed sleep.

 

* * *

 

It’s bright when she opens her eyes but a different kind of light, soft and muted. Daylight. She’s no longer in the woods with Anya. Then, she remembers. The Ark, she made it to the Ark. She found her mom. Whatever happens next, she’s no longer alone in it.

She also isn’t alone in the room. Something heavy is resting on her legs, but from flat on her back she can’t see what it is. For a few seconds she feels nothing but panic. What if it’s because she can’t move her legs? But then she wiggles them a little and the weight lifts, a face with a sharp chin and clever, dark eyes coming into focus. There’s a head of thick, dark hair attached to it and Clarke recognizes the ratty red jacket. 

“Hey,” Raven says. “Welcome back.”

Clarke glances around, realizes she’s in the medical section of the Ark. “Were you here all night?”

Raven shrugs. “After the dropship, it was the least I could do.” 

“Thanks.” Clarke tries to sit up.

“Don’t move!” Raven pushes lightly on her shoulders. “Abby just stepped out to get coffee. If you die on my watch, it’ll be more than shocklashes for me.” 

Clarke doesn’t fully understand how shocklashes fit into her recovery, but she doesn’t want to get Raven into trouble so she falls back on her pillows, sighing a little at the extra support for her head. “You’re okay?” she asks, amazed Raven is alive let alone moving around.

“Because of you. Your mom took the bullet out of my spine, but I wouldn’t have made it through the night without your help.” Her face grows serious. “I owe you my life.”

It snags in Clarke’s chest, the gratitude in Raven’s eyes. She might have saved Raven’s life, but it doesn’t make up for the people she abandoned to the Mountain. So many lives at risk and she ran. She hopes it’s not too late for those she left behind.

“I have more good news. Your boyfriend made it too.”

Clarke doesn’t know what a “boyfriend” is, but the knowing smile on Raven’s face gives her a hint. “Bellamy?” she whispers, her mood instantly shifting. She can’t help the wide smile that breaks out across her face, or the bubble of joy that escapes from her throat. She laughs, even though there’s nothing funny about it.

Raven nods. “He’s out looking for – ” 

Abby walks in and Raven’s mouth snaps shut. “I’ll tell you later,” she mouths before slipping away to give Clarke and her mom privacy. She wants to know more, but Clarke lets her mom fuss over her. Bellamy is alive. He’s alive and she can see him again. There are so many questions she wants to ask, but it’s enough just knowing.

Abby sits on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts.”

“That’s to be expected. You had one hell of a concussion, lots of cuts and lacerations. You were severely dehydrated too.”

Clarke nods, unsure of what to say next. Or where to start. She remembers her worries the night of the Unity Day party – she’s still terrified of what will come out if she opens her mouth.

Abby watches her with soft, hooded eyes. “Honey, tell me your story.” She must see the panic in her daughter’s eyes because she smiles kindly and pats Clarke’s leg. “Just start at the beginning.”

“The dropship crashed,” Clarke says, remembering in painful clarity every detail of that day, the blue sky and the yellow sun and her daddy’s red, red blood staining the green grass. “Dad had a pole in his stomach, some shrapnel from the landing. He died in my arms and that’s when they found me.”

“Who?” Her mom has a hand pressed to her mouth and tears in her eyes and her voice is a ragged whisper. 

“The Trikru – Grounders. They took me in and gave me a home.” She rests her hand over her mom’s. Abby’s is trembling. “They were good to me. Different from the Ark, but I didn’t lack for anything.” She thinks of her fierce nomon. Indra was hard because the ground made her that way, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t love. Clarke is a healer and a warrior and she knows right from wrong, understands loyalty and honor and the power in forgiveness. She’s the person she is because her nomon loved her. “I had a good life.”

“I never stopped believing in you,” Abby says. “All those years, they told me I was crazy, but I knew…” She presses a hand to her chest. “I knew you weren’t really dead.”

Clarke thinks her mom might be crazy for believing she was alive, but she’s glad for it because it means they can have this – a family. “I missed you too,” she says. Abby reaches for her again and wraps her in a gentle hug.

They break apart when Byrne makes an appearance, ready for the interrogation she was denied the night before. Abby watches her warily. “How can we help you, Byrne?”

“Lieutenant Miller says Clarke saw his son.” She turns her attention to Clarke. “Where have you been?”

“Byrne – ” Abby starts, but Clarke cuts her off, eager to begin moving on the Mountain. The longer they wait, the closer Tsing is to launching Phase 2. She pushes away flashes of cages and prisoners, her people hung by their feet and drained of blood. No matter how good it felt, she’s wasted enough time walking down memory lane with her mother.

“I was being held in Mount Weather.”

Byrne frowns. “The Grounders took you to Mount Weather?”

Clarke’s forehead crinkles in confusion. Why would her own people kidnap her? “No, we were taken by the Mountain Men.” Both women frown and she reverses course, takes her story back to where it started. “For as long as we can remember, my people have been at war with the Mountain.” Abby flinches at her choice of words but Clarke keeps going. Right now, the truth is more important than her mom’s feelings. “They kidnap warriors, wives, healers and children. No one comes back.” She feels a snarl curl her lip. “After the battle at the dropship, they captured your people too. I was among them and what I found in the Mountain…” She pauses to catch her breath, to cool the anger making her cheeks flush and her eyes narrow. “They cannot handle radiation but my people can. They drain us of our blood to heal themselves.” She turns a steely gaze on Byrne and her mom. “Soon, it will happen to your people too.”

“How much time do we have?” Byrne asks.

Clarke shakes her head. “Not much.”

A dark-haired man appears. “Abby, sorry, to interrupt, but we need you at the gate. A group of Hydra station refugees just arrived.” 

Abby sighs but pushes to her feet. “Thanks, Jackson. I’ll be right there.” 

Byrne turns to Clarke. “Tell us what you know.”

“We’re not doing this now,” Abby says. She’s a small woman, but there’s a ferocious look in her eyes, like a brown bear protecting her cub. “My daughter needs to rest.”

“Okay,” Byrne reluctantly agrees. “I’ll come back later.” 

“I meant what I said.” Abby gestures at the bed. “You really do need rest.” 

“I’m fine – ” Clarke starts, but the look in her mom’s eyes says otherwise. She meekly lies back down and pulls the blanket to her chin. 

After her mom leaves, she counts to thirty before throwing back the blankets. There’s still a dull ache in her head, but her energy has returned and her wounds are neatly bandaged. Someone bathed her during the night too. Her skin is scrubbed of blood and mud and her hair falls in soft waves around her face. She wears nothing but the strange breast-binding and low-riding underwear they gave her in the Mountain. 

Raven whistles from the doorway. “Looking goooooood.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I can’t find my clothes.”

“Sure.” Leaning heavily on a cane, Raven steps inside. She favors her right leg and her left calf is encased in some sort of metal contraption. She draws in a painful breath with each step she takes.

“Raven…” Clarke stares wide-eyed at the crippled girl. If Raven had been born Trigedakru, she’d have been fed pennyroyal tea during her first night on earth. The Trikru are not cruel, but realistic. The world is hard enough with all four limbs. 

Raven smiles tightly. “It sucks, but I’m dealing with it.” Through gritted teeth, she hobbles across the room and picks up a stack of clothes. “Abby left these for you.” She sits while Clarke dresses, taps a steady rhythm with her good foot. “Feel better?” 

Clarke glances down at her outfit. The shirt she understands, but it took her a few tries to zip her pants. “I look like you.”

“You could do worse.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “I really could.” They both laugh, but there’s truth in those words, same as in the dropship. She thinks she’d still pick Raven first because it’s just nice having a friend.

“You know, I’m supposed to keep you in that bed,” Raven says while Clarke laces her boots. 

Clarke pauses in tying a bow and looks up to meet Raven’s gaze. “Are you going to stop me?”

“No. Finn and I aren’t together, but he’s my family. Our friends were missing and I told him to find them. Bellamy’s with him.” Raven’s jaw tightens, a desperate sadness flickering in her eyes. “I’d be out there too if I could.” Her attention shifts to the tangled mess of her left leg before looking into Clarke’s eyes with a steely, determined gaze. “You’re going to carry on for both of us.” 

Clarke stares back, the magnitude of Raven’s request weighing heavily on her heart. She doesn’t want to leave Bellamy alone in the woods, but she can’t leave her mom either. Her chest actually aches. She’s so tired of having to choose. 

The choice is taken from her when a scruffy, blond man sticks his head inside. “Reyes! I heard a guard say there’s movement in the North Woods.” He looks pained. “They don’t think it’s Grounders.”

Hope fills Raven’s eyes and she struggles to her feet, swatting away Clarke’s offered support and hissing at the reluctant messenger. “I don’t need your help, Wick.” He backs off but keeps a careful eye on Raven’s balance as they follow her outside.

There’s a crowd at the gate, guards and civilians watching curiously as a small party passes into the yard. Clarke catches a brief glimpse of Octavia, supporting the weight of a girl with an intricate braid and stiff leg, and her heart starts to sing, breaking into full song when she spots the pair behind them. The girl is slender and pretty, with an oversized jacket resting on her narrow shoulders and Bellamy’s arm wrapped around her waist. He’s filthy and bloody, but otherwise unharmed.

“Bellamy,” she breathes, and she can barely say his name through the emotion in her chest, but Raven’s smile confirms that what she’s seeing is real.

“Go. I’ll catch up,” Raven says and Clarke takes off without another word. 

Inside the yard, Bellamy hands over his gun and holds up his hands in surrender, stepping away from the girl so Abby can examine her. He doesn’t touch her again but even if he did, Clarke wouldn’t care. He’s alive and whole and that’s all that matters. She tells herself to go slow, not to draw attention to herself after what happened the night before, but then the braid and the beauty walk away with Abby and Jackson and Bellamy and Octavia are alone and she can’t stop her feet from flying.

He’s just turned to say something to his sister and doesn’t see her coming, stumbling back a step or two when she throws herself against his chest. For a moment he just stands there, arms wide and legs braced to take her weight. She can’t see his face because hers is buried in his neck, but she can imagine his expression, the same shock and relief she felt when she saw him walk through the gate, and then he’s wrapping his arms around her with enough force to lift her feet from the ground. 

She knows how strong he is, has seen the evidence with her own eyes, but she’s never _felt_ it quite like this. He’s so much larger than her and he doesn’t hold her so much as he engulfs her. He holds her like he’d walk through fire for her, like he’d die for her, and tears well in her eyes when she remembers how close they came. She breaks his hold but doesn’t break away, lifts a shaky hand to cup his jaw and pull his mouth down to hers. 

He kisses her hard and open-mouthed, and she feels his heart jump through the hard planes of his chest. Hers follows suit, matches the irregular rhythm, and she doesn’t pull back until she’s gasping for air. It feels so inconsequential, the need to breathe, when she can be kissing Bellamy instead.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers and blinks back her tears. 

He smiles, so tender that her tears fall, and wipes them from her cheeks. ”I don’t give up that easy.”

“I’m glad,” she says and he kisses her again, slow and relaxed but with that familiar heat. They only break apart when Raven clears her throat. 

“Incoming.”

Clarke looks up and spots her mom standing outside the Ark, eyes narrowed at the scene before her. “Branwada,” she curses softly. She isn’t embarrassed, but explaining her relationship with Bellamy is low on her list of priorities. She’d rather slide against him, skin to skin, until she forgets that she ever thought him gone. 

Octavia says something to Bellamy, too low for Clarke to hear, but he chuckles in response, and Clarke realizes she hasn’t said a word to her friend, a friend she thought dead. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Octavia says and pulls Clarke into a brief hug.

 _Lucky_ , Clarke thinks as she accepts Octavia’s hug. So many people she thought dead and they keep coming back to her. “You too,” she says and pulls back to study her friend. Something is different about Octavia, and not just the Trikru braids in her hair. Her eyes are hard and her lower lip keeps trembling and Clarke really wants to know what happened after the battle, but it’s hard to focus with Bellamy’s hand sliding low on her hip. 

Raven clears her throat again and taps Octavia’s shoulder. “How about we get you cleaned up?”

Octavia’s gaze darts between her brother and Clarke, takes in his hand on her hip and how she’s curled into his side, and she looks disgusted but follows Raven’s lead. 

Clarke’s dimly aware that she should be debriefing Octavia, or planning an attack on the Mountain, or resting in the medical ward, but none of those things seem important now. Bellamy smiles at her and she smiles back, the rest of the world fading away. She’s given so much already – she deserves this one thing for herself. 

She takes Bellamy’s hand, sucks in a breath at the feel of long, strong fingers tangling with hers. Her body is already humming with the need to feel those hands on her bare skin. “C’mon,” she says and tugs, leads him away from the gate before her mom intercepts them. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I know a place,” he says and guides her away from the Ark to a tent on the other side of the camp. For a moment he does nothing but watch her, dark eyes taking in the loose hair falling around her shoulders and the Ark-issued clothes clinging to her breasts and hips. “I thought I might never see you again.”

A hard knot forms in her throat and she swallows it down. She doesn’t want to go back to that horrible night in the dropship when she thought her loved ones were dead. When she thought _Bellamy_ was dead. “I’m here now,” she says and reaches up to tangle her fingers in the hair at his nape, draws his mouth towards hers.

He kisses her the way she remembers, hard but also gentle, rough hands scraping along her jaw as he deepens the angle. She gasps into his mouth, a low, throaty moan that makes him laugh against her throat. She only moans louder.

“I think someone missed me,” he teases, lays her down on the makeshift bed and unzips her jacket. She’s a little jealous of how easily he handles the zipper, but it quickly fades when he tugs up the hem of her shirt, fingers trailing along the waistband of her pants.

“We were interrupted on United Day,” she reminds him, strokes her hands under his shirt to get at his skin. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Bellamy’s eyes darken, a confident smile curving his mouth. “I made a promise, didn’t I?” he mutters and it’s the last thing he says because he’s too busy kissing her.

It’s different than during the storm. There’s no rain on their skin or electricity in the air. They move slower, a little more assured. Bellamy takes his time letting his eyes and mouth linger over her breasts, her belly, the sweet spot between her thighs. There’s laughter too, when he fumbles with the clasp to her unfamiliar breast-binding or she trips in the process of taking off her boots.

But then he’s inside her and she’s arching against him and he’s moving, slow and then hurried, and she’s moving with him, catching his rhythm like they’ve been moving together their entire lives. 

After, she sprawls across his chest, his heart thumping wildly against her cheek. He draws lazy circles on her back, presses lightly into the dip of her hips, traces the bumps of her spine with those long, tapered fingers. She shivers and he raises his head so he can kiss her.

“I have something to tell you.” 

She turns in his arms and rests her chin on her crossed wrists. “I don’t like how that sounds.” 

“It’s about Lincoln.”

“What happened?” she demands. When Octavia had turned up in one piece, she’d assumed Lincoln was fine but gone to tonDC to help put their broken people back together. The look on Bellamy’s face says otherwise.

“He and Octavia were attacked on the way to your village.” He pauses, searches for a word. “O says he was taken by Reapers? You probably know what that means.”

Her breathing hitches from the revelation. First her brother, now Lincoln. Clarke wishes she’d never seen Kolya at the falls, had never seen what he’s become. Death would be a kindness – she knows he’d rather his fight be over than live out his days as a monster. Lincoln too. But her brothers are gone and her people are still in the Mountain while she lies naked in a boy’s arms. She pushes away from Bellamy and searches for her clothes. 

He watches her closely, gloriously naked but concerned. Maybe he thinks if he doesn’t cover up, she’ll stop getting dressed? It’s a good distraction, but not enough to change her mind. She zips her pants on her first try and starts on her breast-binding.’’

“Clarke, talk to me.” 

She gets the binding clasped and tugs her shirt over her head. He keeps watching her, eyes boring into her back through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Ste daunon don gon we en kikon ste enti,” she says.

The blanket rustles as he gets out of bed. “Preferably in English.”

She pauses in zipping her jacket; she hadn’t even realized that she was speaking Trigedasleng. “The dead are gone and the living are hungry.” She tugs on the zipper again, lets him figure out the rest on his own.

Bellamy’s touch is gentle as he zips the jacket and takes her hands. “Tell me.” He pauses. “Please.” 

Clarke makes the mistake of looking at him, still naked and dark eyes soft with worry. It’s a bit like looking into herself, how much he wants to help. Her fingers tighten around Bellamy’s as her anger flares. “We’ve always known that the Mountain uses Reapers to control us. You think you know myths and legends? You know nothing about Reapers. They’re feral, viscous. All they think about is their next meal and that meal is you and me.” She draws from the stories she heard at Indra’s fire, evokes her nomon’s flat, rhythmic tone to tell the tale without emotion breaking free. “Don’t think we didn’t try to take the Mountain. My people have been defeated but they are not weak. But the Mountain sends fog and sends Reapers and too many warriors fall.” She pauses, voice finally cracking. “We knew the Maunde made Reapers, but we did not know they made them from us. What Lincoln’s become – it’s a fate worse than death.” She lets him see her fierce gaze. “They have our people, yours and mine. They’re next.” 

She expects him to pull her into his arms or stroke her hair from her face, but he only studies her, jaw locked in concentration. “Okay,” he says after a beat. “How can I help?”

His gaze his eager but determined and it’s admirable, how quickly he jumps into her fight, but it’s hard taking him seriously when he isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. 

A hint of a smile curves her mouth. “You can start by getting dressed.”

He smirks but reaches for his pants. “You sure?” He’s caught her watching those pants slide up his muscled legs, hang low on his hips while he works on the buckle. 

She swats him and flushes but he laughs in return and it goes a long way in cooling any anger. When he’s fully dressed he leans in for a quick kiss, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need to linger because he’ll be kissing her again soon. 

They walk out of the tent and stand shoulder to shoulder. “What now?” 

She takes a breath and focuses her gaze on the Ark, old and weary but mighty and proud as it looms over its people. She prepares to face what’s inside. “Now we talk to my mother.”

 

* * *

 

The meeting is already in progress when Clarke and Bellamy step into the Ark.

“We know nothing about these people in Mount Weather,” Byrne says. “Their numbers, their capabilities – we need to proceed carefully.”

A man with dark, curly hair nods in agreement. “According to Clarke, the 47 still inside are not being harmed, at least not yet. I hate to leave them there but if she’s right, they still have time.”

Abby crosses her arms, a movement that draws attention to the pin on her jacket. She's more than a councilor – she’s leading the Skaikru – and it further complicates matters. “Okay, we gather intel on Mount Weather and send a team after Kane. He needs to know that the Grounders don’t have those kids.”

Clarke has had enough with them making decisions for her. Given Abby’s reaction to her and Bellamy at the gate, she’d thought it might be uncomfortable interacting with her mom, but she didn’t think they’d devise an entire strategy without her. Even if she wasn’t the only one to step foot in the Mountain’s halls, she knows the ground better than any of them. They literally cannot do this without her. 

“I want to be on that team.”

The Skaikru’s heads turn, matching quizzical expressions spreading across their faces. Abby excuses herself from the group and pulls Clarke into a corner. Bellamy hangs back a respectful distance, but Clarke knows he’ll jump in if she needs him.

“I want to be on that team,” she says again. “I know the terrain and more importantly, I know the Mountain.”

Abby’s mouth pinches in annoyance. “Absolutely not. You need to rest.” She glares at Bellamy. “And he needs to be debriefed.”

“Mel and Monroe can fill you in on the details,” Bellamy says. “We still have people out there that think the Grounders took our friends. We need to find them before they cause more damage.”

Clarke nods, remembering Raven’s request to bring Finn home. “They’re either going to get themselves killed or make things worse with my people, and you’re going to need them to get your people out of Mount Weather.”

Abby smiles regretfully, like the first time she gave Clarke a timeout, like she didn’t want to do it but would do it anyway. “Sweetheart, I know you want to help, but you need time to heal. We don’t have the manpower to send out two separate rescue missions and protect our camp. Our priority has to be with Chancellor Kane.” Her expression hardens. “I’m sorry, but the decision’s been made.”

Bellamy steps forward, comes to a halt just behind Clarke’s right shoulder. She stands a little straighter having him at her back. “You’re sorry?” Bellamy accuses. “Finn and Murphy are out there looking for your people, including your daughter, with guns you gave us. And now she’s home, you’re going to abandon them? If you can’t spare the guards, we can do it ourselves.”

“Absolutely not – ” Abby starts.

“It’s our best option – ” Clarke responds.

“– I just got you back!” Abby takes deep breaths, her cheeks flushed a bright red as she tries to calm her breathing. “I understand that this is important, but I can’t lose you again. I missed twelve years of your life – let me protect you now.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Clarke says quietly. “I need you to trust me. If I don’t do this, you’ll lose me anyway.” 

The air is heavy – charged – as they face off, two Griffin women that love each other deeply but can’t find common ground. It makes Clarke want to laugh. For so many years, she yearned to have her mom back. Now she has Abby in her life, but when she does typical “mom” stuff, Clarke longs for her freedom. Indra is in her head, “Ste wach gon chit yu gaf gon in.” _Be careful what you wish for._ She remembers Indra the night of the bomb, how she begged her daughter not to leave. Clarke stayed and people died. _Indra_ died. She won’t make the same mistake twice.

Jackson interrupts before she has to break her mom’s heart. “ Abby, I’m sorry, but we need you in medical.” 

“Byrne, no one leaves this camp,” Abby says, but fixes Clarke and Bellamy with meaningful looks.

Clarke raises her chin, the way she learned from her mom over a decade ago, and meets Abby’s eyes. “You’d better go.”

Bellamy steps forward and rests his hands on her shoulders. Together, they watch Abby leave the Ark, ignore Byrne’s intense gaze. “What’s the plan?”

She sighs. “We’re going to need guns.”

An hour later they’re standing in a far corner of camp, hidden behind the hulking mass of what Bellamy says was Alpha Station. Clarke looks at it with interest as they wait for Raven. It’s nothing more than scarred metal and torn beams, but she was raised there, spent the first five years of her life within its walls. She feels no connection to it now, longs to disappear into the trees she knows like the back of her hand. She’s always liked that expression, how it implies that the forest is a part of her. It is in so many ways. It’s the only life she really understands.

Raven limps towards them with Octavia behind her, a large pack slung over her shoulder while Raven leans heavily on a metal cane. Octavia dumps the bag on the ground and begins distributing supplies. 

“I scored you a few extra clips,” Raven says as Octavia pulls three rifles out of the bag. “Some food and blankets too.” She rubs her arms. “It’s getting chilly at night.” 

“Thank you,” Clarke says while Bellamy and his sister deal with their packs. “I know you’re risking a lot to help us.”

Raven frowns. “If I could, I’d be with you.” Her frown deepens. “I’m worried about Finn. After what he’s been through...promise you won’t hurt him.”

Clarke glances at Bellamy and reads the “I’ll explain later” expression on his face. “Our priority is finding Finn and Murphy.” She can’t help the slight grimace at mention of the traitor’s name, but Bellamy said he’s changed and she believes him. 

Octavia’s jaw ticks, so much like her brother. “Your mom is in surgery and the team going after Kane just left. We should too.”

“My turn,” Raven says and touches her cane to the fence. A sharp hiss of blue electricity sparks where the metal touches and everyone except Raven jumps back. She laughs and raises a radio to her mouth. “Shut her down, Wick.” She waits a few seconds then touches her cane again. Nothing happens. “It’s handled,” she says and gestures for them to get moving. “Good luck.”

Clarke goes first, gingerly pulling apart the wires before climbing through. The metal is cool but otherwise harmless, and she lets out a breath as she steps into the wild. Octavia quickly follows, and then Bellamy, and then they’re hurrying into the woods. Clarke leads the way and uses hand signals to communicate, mostly to Octavia who then passes the message to Bellamy. She wants him close but doesn’t mind him picking up the rear – it’s reassuring to know that he’s watching their backs.

They make camp a few hours later despite Octavia’s protests. She’s convinced they’re also on a rescue mission for Lincoln and Clarke doesn’t have the heart to tell her how hopeless her cause is. She saw what became of Kolya; there’s no coming back from it. Instead, she insists Octavia sleep a few hours while she and Bellamy alternate taking watch. After much grumbling, Octavia curls up and pulls a blanket over her head, although Clarke’s pretty sure she’s still has both ears open.

“Are you sure they’re going to your village?” Bellamy watches her closely from across the fire.

Clarke nods. Between their meeting with Abby and leaving camp, Bellamy filled her in on their time apart. “The warrior you mentioned is a snake, a thief. He and his men were cast out not long before your dropship landed. Sending Finn and Murphy to tonDC is his revenge.” 

Bellamy frowns. “You haven’t seen Finn. That Grounder general held him captive for days before we rescued him. He wouldn’t talk about it, but whatever happened, the war…they changed him.” 

“Tristan,” she grumbles. 

“Big, bald, prone to torturing his captives?”

She nods. Tristan is cruel by her own people’s standards but for Finn, a boy raised in the sky, unfamiliar with their traditions, their way of life? She pushes to her feet and stomps out the fire, all traces of exhaustion gone. “We need to find Finn now.”

Octavia rolls over, fully awake the way Clarke hoped she wouldn’t be. “And Lincoln,” she says firmly.

Clarke closes her eyes to keep from lashing out. It’s not Octavia’s fault that she doesn’t understand that death doesn’t always mean dying. “And Lincoln,” she agrees and grabs her pack, Octavia and Bellamy silently trailing behind her.

They hike through the night and into pale light of dawn, until they reach the ruins of a monument to a dead American president. It’s the final marker before tonDC and holds special meaning for Clarke. Lincoln was named for him, the Liberator, the Emancipator, a man that died for what he believed in. They always stopped here on journeys home and she pauses a moment to remember her fallen friend.

“Octavia?” Bellamy asks. Clarke turns to find Octavia staring at the statue with watery blue eyes, her entire body trembling with emotion. “O?”

“The Reapers came from there,” Octavia says, her voice breaking. She points to the monument with her sword “I couldn’t save him, Bell.”

Tears slip down her cheeks and Bellamy pulls his sister into a comforting embrace, whispering softly that it will be okay. Clarke watches them, acutely jealous of their bond. Lincoln or Kolya would have done the same for her, but Lincoln and Kolya are dead and Bellamy’s sister is achingly alive. She studies the ground to keep from glaring at them. 

The gunshots snap her out of her thoughts, rattling painfully loud through the otherwise silent forest. Clarke unlocks the safety on her rifle and turns towards the chaos. “Run,” she orders and takes off into the woods.

She doesn’t know what she thought she’d find, but the reality isn’t what she expected. Bodies are everywhere, bodies and blood and so many screams hurting her ears. 

Artigas, Nyko’s son, lies dead-eyed at the center of the yard, Pia beside him. Pia, her first kiss, fumbling in the dark the year they turned twelve. Pia, who smeared black paint across Clarke’s eyes before battle and kissed her brow for luck. There are others too, friends and neighbors and rivals, gazing at her with faces frozen in horror, collapsed in the mud where they fell.

Across the yard, Murphy is yelling but it’s Finn holding the smoking gun. Clarke knows Bellamy is behind her, hears his boots pounding furiously into the ground as he runs towards her, but she doesn’t _hear_ him.

She hears her people’s screams and sees their lifeless faces. She raises her rifle and aims it at Finn, fires without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dedicating this chapter to Ryan Adams, as I have done nothing but listen to his cover of “1989” since it was released last week. It is amazing and brilliant and I haven’t listened to the original for comparison, so feel free to correct me. Mostly, I’m excited to enjoy Ryan Adams for the very first time! Check. It. Out. Thank you for the continued support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	9. The Path of the Righteous - Part III

 

* * *

 

Nothing and everything happens at once.

Things get louder and softer, faster and slower. Bellamy sounds like he’s miles away even though he’s right next to her. It’s like he’s talking underwater and Clarke squints, struggles to hear him through the pounding in her ears.

She blinks at him, standing over her in the morning sun, and she wants to study him, the curve of his cheek and the jut of his jaw, backlit by soft, gold light, but she knows better. She knows something’s wrong. Her shoulder hurts, a deep, pinching pain, and she’s lying on the ground, something hard and heated pressing into her hip.

It’s a distraction, a tiny one, but not enough to make her forget. She shot Finn. She _shot_ Finn. It doesn’t matter that he did it first – she killed him all the same. Bellamy extends a hand and smiles kindly, but there’s a look in his eyes like Kolya the year they turned nine and she speared a mutant panther that lunged at them in the woods. It’s a look like he’s a little afraid of her. 

“Clarke,” he says, voice soft and gentle, like he doesn’t want to spook her like the deer she startled her first week on the ground. Indra had been furious to lose their dinner, given Clarke extra chores for days to make up for it. 

But Clarke isn’t a wild animal. She’s a person with choices and she’s responsible for the consequences. She killed someone, killed a boy that was living and breathing and isn’t anymore – because of her, because of what _she_ did. 

She stares at Bellamy in horror and shoots back through the grass. “Get away from me.”

He nods like it’s a reasonable response. “Okay, but I need you to give me the gun.”

Her horror grows, steals the breath from her lungs and the voice from her tongue. She realizes what was poking her hip – the rifle she used to kill Finn. She rolls to her side and stares at it a long minute, tries to figure out how it got there. Her people hate guns, the Maunon's weapon of choice, but she brought them. She _asked_ for them. Her people hate guns, but she wasn’t with her people. “When in Rome,” her daddy used to say. It’s yet another reminder that she might have been born Skaikru, but she doesn’t understand them. Maybe she should stop trying.

The rifle is still warm to the touch when she picks it up, like it’s alive in all the ways Finn no longer is. She catches sight of him as she shoves the gun in Bellamy’s direction, splayed on his back with lifeless eyes, a dark pool of blood spreading through the grass. 

A small noise escapes her throat, a broken thing that doesn’t sound human. She holds a hand to her mouth but the noise won’t stop no matter how hard she presses.

Strong fingers lock around her elbow and gently tug her to her feet so she falls against Bellamy’s broad chest. He looks at her like she imagines he looked at Octavia when she was small, like he would always keep her safe, like he could fix anything that went wrong – like he can fix _her_. 

She twists out of his grip, holds her hands out to put distance between them. She doesn’t want him touching her, doesn’t want to infect him with the terrible thing that she’s done. She picked up that gun and she pulled the trigger – it’s a burden she must carry on her own.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, angrily brushes tears from her cheeks and sticks her hands in her pockets so Bellamy can’t see that they’re trembling. “I need to help the wounded.” 

“Clarke,” he tries again but she ignores him, walks towards the bloody square on shaky legs.

Nyko looks up as she approaches, eyes heavy with sorrow. He’s holding his dead son in his arms. Seeing Artigas brings more tears to Clarke’s eyes, grief for her friend but mostly guilt that she didn’t make it in time. 

“Ai laik moba gon yu laudnes.” _I'm sorry for your loss._ She crouches down beside Nyko and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Mochof.” He slices off Artigas’ braid in one neat stroke. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” he says and closes his son’s eyes. He pauses a moment before shrugging off Clarke’s hand and pushing to his feet. “We have work to do.”

Bellamy steps forward. “How can we help?”

It’s Clake’s first instinct to remind him that he’s Skaikru and the Trikru take care of their own, but she’s seen the damage those allegiances can cause, sees it in clear black and white and bright red as the blood splashed across the yard. There’s so much damage, so much death, and little reason to redraw those lines now.

She catches Nyko’s eye and sees the hesitation there, the reluctance to let outsiders in at a time like this, but she’s the heda’s daughter and the heda is dead and until a new one is chosen, leadership falls on her shoulders. She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, but Nyko’s observant and he bows his head in submission. He won’t challenge her, much as he disapproves of her choice.

“Help the injured,” she says to Nyko, then focuses on Bellamy. “There’s a ritual that comes with death.” 

Bellamy swallows hard. “What kind of ritual?” 

She climbs to her feet and cocks her head towards the pen in the center of the square. The survivors have moved most of the bodies, but the mud is stained with blood and the metal fence needs to come down. “Clear the square and prepare a pyre.” She points to a pile of stacked wood by the smokehouse. “We burn our dead.” 

“Beats being shoved out into space,” Octavia mutters under her breath. Clarke’s not sure exactly what she’s talking about – her memories of her first life are stuck in the mind of a five-year-old – but she knows the Ark’s cruelty. They sent children to a radiation-soaked planet, culled three hundred citizens, armed Finn and set him loose in a strange world. The Trikru are a harsh people, but fair. She understands how their traditions would appeal to a girl forced to live beneath the floor.

“Come,” she says to Octavia, watches Bellamy and Murphy inspect the fence so she doesn’t have to look at Finn. He lies where he fell and Clarke keeps her eyes anywhere but on him. 

Octavia follows her to the medical hut, mutely accepts bandages and clamps, suture needles and threat, yarrow paste and chamomile and all the supplies Clarke hopes will put a broken people back together. She stuffs a packet of tansy into her pocket, makes a note to brew tea later. 

 

Her friend has a small amount of medical knowledge from the events at the dropship, and Octavia follows Clarke from patient to patient, always ready with a bandage or sip of water, whatever the injured needs. 

“Okteivia kom Skaikru,” Nyko says. “I did not expect to see you again.”

Octavia smiles grimly. “I was hoping that if I did, it would be under better circumstances.” 

Clarke wonders how they know each other, but her curiosity will have to wait because their current patient is bleeding steadily from a bullet wound in her thigh. It nicked the femoral artery and it’s a miracle she’s lived this long, but there’s nothing more they can do. She’s lost too much blood and they lack the required skills to fix her. With a heavy heart, Clarke digs a jar of pennyroyal out of her pack and hands it to Nyko. The girl’s name is Ina, a teacher bound to a gona named Sera. Or at least she was. Clarke looks away as Nyko dribbles the tincture into Ina’s mouth with a heavy sigh.

Octavia watches closely. “Can I say the words?” 

After a moment’s pause, Clarke agrees. She doesn’t think Indra would let an outsider usher a Trikru into the next world, but Indra isn’t here and Clarke is so tired of saying goodbye.

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” Octavia says softly and closes Ina’s eyes. “May you be remembered forever, until there is no more pain, no more suffering, and the abyss itself shall give up her dead and return them to us.” She presses a gentle kiss to Ina’s brow before pulling back, furiously brushing tears from her cheeks. She gets up and walks away without another word.

Nyko stares after her. “I did not expect such eloquent words from one of them.”

“We never expected anything from them and look where it got us.” Clarke keeps her eyes focused on the muddy ground to keep from looking at the carnage all around her.

“I will follow you. Until the council chooses a new heda, I trust your leadership.” 

“I wish I did.”

Nyko puts a hand on her shoulder. “Fifteen dead but it could have been more.” “You saved us and now you will keep us alive.”

He rises to move Ina’s body and leaves Clarke alone with her thoughts. Across the square, she watches Bellamy dig up the fence posts, shoulders bunching under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. On a different day, she’d stay and watch the show, drink in her fill of straining muscles and sweaty skin. But today is this day, the day she killed a boy, and she doesn’t deserve to watch the push and pull of Bellamy’s body. She doesn’t deserve anything that brings her joy.

She turns back to her patients and works until the sun slips from the sky. With Nyko and Octavia’s help, she saves four lives but loses two more. Nyko’s shoulders sag from more than their weight as he carries each body to the pyre. Clarke had thought Octavia might stop them, insist on a ground burial or the like, but she watches with red-rimmed eyes as the Trikru go about their funeral preparations.

Clarke addresses the assembled group. “Osir fleim au em gon won soncha.” _We burn them at first light._

The survivors nod or whisper assent, retreat to their cook fires and tents, eager to escape the death permeating every part of the village. The Skaikru awkwardly crowd around her, unsure of what to do next.

Bellamy looks to her for further instructions. “They listen to you.”

She shrugs, kicks absently at the dirt. “My mother – my adopted mother – was the leader of this village. She died at the dropship and until a new leader is chosen, the responsibility falls to me.” It’s the first time she’s admitted Indra’s death out loud and her voice is raspy with grief. 

“Wait,” Octavia says. “I met the leader of Lincoln’s village. Indra, right?” Her eyes are still red-rimmed but bright with excitement. “Your mom isn’t dead, Clarke.”

She stares in disbelief. “You were with Nyko…”

Octavia shakes her head. “Lincoln brought him to me after the battle. The arrow I took was poisoned and Nyko gave me an antidote to counteract it. He said he was needed in his village and we parted ways.” She takes Clarke’s hands. “That’s when Indra found us.”

Clarke grips Octavia’s hands hard enough to bruise, but they’re the only thing keeping her upright. Her mom is alive. Kolya is alive. Bellamy is alive. Lincoln is alive. Her nomon is _alive_. She thought she lost everyone she loved, but they’ve been returned to her. She wants to cry or cheer or maybe do a little dance like Kolya when he’d score a soccer goal. Her happiness spreads across every inch of her body and she fights to keep a smile from her face. There are still Trikru in the square and she must be strong for them. She must be what Indra was until she comes back to them.

“Thank you,” she whispers to Octavia and squeezes her hands, the only indication that she’s understood her friend’s words. 

She catches the eye of young boy and beckons him over. “Gyon op, Naikou.”

“Sha, heda?” Nyko looks exhausted when he appears at her side, but Clarke thinks this news might make the darkness easier to endure.

“Indra is alive,” she tells him, aware of the giddiness in her voice but unable to hide it. 

“You are sure?”

“Octavia saw her in the trimani.” Octavia nods to confirm the news. Slowly, Nyko smiles, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s real nonetheless. “We need to send a rider.” 

A knot forms in Clarke’s throat when she tries to speak. “I don’t know who to choose.” 

“I’ll go.” It’s the messenger Clarke sent to fetch Nyko, no more than twelve years old but the best they have. He stands strong and proud before her even though he’s no more than a boy.

“Chon yu bilaik?” _Who are you?_

He meets Clarke’s gaze with a steadiness that surprises her. “Ivan.”

“Na yu laik hosa, Ivan?” _Can you ride?_

“Sha.”

“Na yu gon raun?” _Can you fight?_

He straightens his shoulders and stands a little taller. “Sha.”

Clarke nods briskly. “Den yu na bants.” _Then you will go._

His mouth quirks but he represses the smile, returns Clarke’s nod with a brisk one of his own. 

“Indra laik gon heda kamp.” _Indra is at the heda’s camp._

She turns to Nyko. “You will find him a horse and provisions.”

He bows his head. “Sha, heda.”

Ivan hangs back a moment, determination fixed into the smooth planes of his face. Clarke does her best to ignore it. He hasn’t grown his first beard and she’s tasking him with a grown man’s job. “No ai na teik yu daun." _I will not let you down._ He chases after Nyko before she can wish him a safe journey.

Bellamy and Octavia are waiting when she turns back to them, but it’s Murphy that gets her attention. “What are we going to do about Finn?” Until he spoke, she’d forgotten that he was in tonDC at all. 

She won’t look, but Clarke knows Finn’s still where he fell – where she left him – and much as she thinks he deserves the blood and mud that make up his resting place, she knows they can’t leave him there.

“We’ll take him back to Camp Jaha, bury him with his own people” Bellamy suggests. “I know Raven will want to say goodbye.”

Clarke sucks in a breath. First her leg, now her family. The earth has given Raven nothing but loss, and this time it’s Clarke's fault. She wants to give Raven time to grieve, to heal, but the ground rarely gives things that people want. 

“There is a ritual that comes with death,” she says. “We burn the murderer with his victims. When they are united in death, the debt is paid.” 

Everyone starts talking at once, Bellamy and Octavia protesting while Clarke stays the course, but it’s Murphy that ends the disagreement. 

“I vote yes,” he says with a casual shrug. “Spacewalker sucked when he was alive and I’m not interested in throwing out my back from dragging him through the woods.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” Octavia sneers but her brother interrupts.

“He has a point,” Bellamy says quietly. “It’s a waste of time and resources to bring the body back.”

“Bell, you can’t be serious – ”

“He murdered eighteen people, O.” Bellamy sounds weary and pained and if it were any other day, Clarke would probably hold him in her arms until it was better, but on this day, she puts her hands on her hips and digs her heels into the dirt. “It doesn’t matter why. He picked up that gun and now eighteen people are dead, more if Clarke hadn’t stepped in.” She shivers but doesn’t interrupt. “Let’s do the ritual and stop the bloodshed before it starts.”

Octavia looks at Clarke. “If we do this, it will keep the peace.”

It depends on how quickly Indra arrives, but Lexa’s camp is half a night’s ride. If they complete the ritual at dawn, Indra will have to accept the outcome. Clarke knows her nomon would never push back against Trikru practices. 

“Yes.” She looks to Bellamy and Murphy for confirmation, presses forward once she has their nods. “We will begin at first light.”

“Heda?” It’s a slight female voice. Clarke turns to find Nena, one of village’s cooks, carrying a pot of stew on one arm and holding a pile of bowls in the other. “Dina gon yu.” She holds out the pot. “Beja, choj op.”

Murphy takes the pot and Octavia takes the bowls and Bellamy walks at Clarke’s side as they follow her to the campfire. Most of her people have bedded down for the night so there’s room to sit and they quickly dish out the steaming stew. No one seems inclined to eat, but Bellamy points out that they’ll need their strength for the long walk back to Camp Jaha. Octavia reluctantly takes a few sips while Murphy slurps down his entire bowl. Clarke ignores her dinner, drinks a cup of tansy tea instead.

“You need to eat too.” On the surface Bellamy is all casual concern, but Clarke sees through it. In the short time she’s known him she’s learned that he’s always more than he seems. He isn’t asking about her appetite; he wants to know if she’s coming back with him.

She looks him straight in the eye so he knows she’s telling him the full truth. She doesn’t know what she wants or which people to choose. Her mom is waiting at the Skaikru camp, but Indra will be in tonDC by mid-morning. She lost both of them and got them back. It’s no longer a matter of won’t – she _can’t_ choose between them. 

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes, there then gone. “I’ll eat with you.” He looks away and takes a hearty sip of stew. 

Clarke sets aside her bowl and takes his hand. After a moment’s pause, he tangles his fingers with hers. 

Eighteen of her people are dead and she put a bullet in Finn’s chest, but Bellamy’s skin is warm against hers, his hands big and strong. She lets herself have this.

 

* * *

 

They deal with Finn after dinner. Bellamy and Murphy carry the body to the yard and Clarke finds an old blanket and Octavia sews it into a shroud with crude but surprisingly even stitches. 

It’s dark and the village is bathed in shadows, but Clarke sees death everywhere she looks. There’s Pia’s empty tent and the small pile of Artigas’ things that Nyko’s left outside the medical hut, the smell of iron in the air and the blood-soaked mud oozing from beneath her boots with every step she takes. 

Panic latches around Clarke’s heart, like that day in the automobile with Wells and Finn, like her throat is closing up and she can’t breathe and there’s too much pressure on her chest. 

“My family tent is second from the left,” she says and gestures vaguely in that direction. “You should find everything you need.”

She leaves for the pools without another word, moving so quickly she’s practically running. She’s equally quick in stripping off her clothes and plunging into the hottest pool, sinking so low her hair fans around her like golden feathers and the moon is a misshapen blob when she opens her eyes. The pressure in her chest eases and when she finally surfaces, she can take steady, even breaths. It doesn’t change what she’s done, but here, she can breathe a little easier.

Bellamy watches her from across the pool, hands planted on his hips, trying very hard to look at her face rather than the skin revealed by the clear water. 

“Did you need something?” Clarke tries not to flinch under his unyielding gaze.

He takes off his jacket and shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his pants down long legs, never breaks eye contact. 

“What are you doing?”

He ignores her, kicks off his boots and his socks and then his underwear until he’s naked before her. “How’s the water?”

She shrugs, unable to form a response. Bellamy dips a toe into the pool, then slides in until he’s submerged to his shoulders. His gaze never leaves hers. 

It isn’t sexual, although they’re naked in a pool of water, but it’s intimate in the way he looks at her, in how it’s so quiet she can almost hear the rapid beat of her heart. 

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats. 

His dark eyes bore into hers. “I want you to know, this doesn’t change what I think of you.” A fierce light flashes in his eyes. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“You look at me differently,” she says quietly, because he does, and not just the intensity of his stare. It’s something she can’t put her finger on, can’t quite put into words, but she sees it all the same, _something_ in his eyes that’s never been there before. 

He swallows, the hard bob of his adam’s apple working the chords of his throat. “I know how you feel,” he finally says. “I shot a man to get on the dropship, and until Raven came down, I thought he died. I thought I took a man’s life. I hated everything Jaha Jr stood for, but I thought I did to him what the Chancellor did to me.” He moves closer, until his chest presses against her breasts, hot, wet skin sliding effortlessly against each other in the steamy water. “I don’t pity you, Clarke. I understand you and I hate that you have to feel the way I did.”

She stares at him a moment, dumbstruck by the honesty in his words, and then she’s kissing him and it’s more than a clash of lips and tongue. It’s total acceptance from the only soul to fully understand the magnitude of her crime, the guilt and hate and blame, but also the triumph, because she saved her people the way he saved his sister. She hauls him even closer and moans. 

His fingers tangle in her hair and he pulls back to look into her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she whispers against his mouth, raises her hips so she can sink down around him. 

There’s a lot of friction in the water so she doesn’t move so much as she rocks against him, but it’s still good, the feel of him stretching her and moving inside her, his rough hands touching her everywhere. It’s better than good. 

It’s over quickly and she slumps against his chest, overwhelmed and boneless, and very much on the verge of tears. She finally feels like she’s whole. For her people, sex is about enjoyment or procreation, and she’s never thought it could be more, that it could make another person matter so much. She’d thought Indra was warning her about pregnancy or false expectations. She never thought that she was warning her about _this_. 

Bellamy nuzzles at her hair. “You okay?”

She nods against his chest, breathes in salt and sweat and the slight tinge of sulfur from the pools. Mostly, she breathes in _him_ and it’s that feeling of closeness, of completion, that almost lets her forget what happened.

“I think I love you,” she whispers. “I know the timing is terrible, but I just do. I love you.”

He’s quiet at first, even as his arms tighten around her, and then he’s pulling her up so he can look into her eyes, so she can see all the emotions shimmering there. It’s like looking into a mirror. 

“I love you too,” he says roughly, voice thick with emotion, and despite the blood on her hands and all the obstacles yet to come, she smiles at him, because that’s what people do when they love each other.

 

* * *

 

The smile is firmly gone when they walk back to camp, and when they check the perimeter, and during the vigil Clarke keeps through the night. It’s not a Trikru tradition but she knows she won’t sleep either way, so she sits beside the people she failed. Bellamy tries to stay with her, but she reminds him that he needs his rest and he reluctantly retreats to the tent. 

He kisses her before he goes and she hears his promise in the press of his mouth: _I’m here, I’m with you_. It comforts her through the long night.

The villagers gather at dawn for the ritual. Each of them looks more devastated than the next, but they perk up slightly when Clarke appears. She remembers similar moments from her childhood, the relief she’d felt that Indra was in control, and she tries to do the same for her people. 

She wears the blank mask she learned from Lexa, addresses the village with the steady tone she learned from her nomon. 

“Kru kom tonDc: raun faya, oso wada klin laudnesde kom fotaim. Stedaun gon we, ba emo keryon na kik raun osir tombon feva." _People of tonDC, with fire we cleanse the pain of the past. The dead are gone, but their souls will live in our hearts forever._

Low moans erupt from the survivors mourning their dead, but Clarke ignores their pain, ignores everything but each boot she presses into the ground as she makes her way to the pyre. The Trikru form a neat circle around Finn and this time she doesn’t look away. She can’t run from the things that she’s done. 

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” she says as she touches the torch to the alcohol soaked pyre and the wood quickly catches fire. 

Bellamy appears at her shoulder, doesn’t touch her, but stands beside her while their people burn. “There’s a saying amongst the people of the Ark, the Traveler’s Blessing. I think it might bring you some comfort.”

“Okay,” she says without moving, without taking her eyes from the steadily growing fire.

His voice is soft but deep, and he says the words so only she hears. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground. May we meet again.”

The fire grows larger, consumes the people Clarke knew and loved. She won’t see Artigas or Pia again in this life, but there’s always the next, and wherever they are, she hopes it’s a better place. She hopes there is no war. She hopes they’ve found peace.

She watches the flames climb higher until Finn is surrounded in a bright, burning ring. She wonders if she’ll ever find peace after what she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	10. The Path of the Righteous: Part IV

 

* * *

 

The fire spreads quickly, but it takes longer to burn through, to turn boys and girls and men and women into ash and soot. Clarke watches until the last ember smolders out.

In small groups or individually, villagers approach the pyre. They hold small clay jars and carefully scoop ashes inside. Some will keep them in their homes, or bury them in the woods, or if they’re especially brave, leave them in the shadow of the Mountain in hopes their loved ones will bring peace to Trikru the Maunon have taken.

No matter their intentions, they avoid the pyre’s peak, Finn’s final resting place. The ritual is complete and peace has been declared but forgiveness will be a long time coming. Clarke’s people might have accepted her decision but they want no part in remembering the boy that murdered their loved ones.

But there are people that will remember him, people that _loved_ him. Raven gave Clarke a mission to bring her family home and she did just the opposite. She’s still coming to terms with what she did and likely always will, but she understands grief. She knows too well the chest-splitting agony that Raven will feel when she learns the truth. Keenly aware of her people’s accusing looks, Clarke takes a jar from the pile and fills it with Finn’s ashes. Having her dad’s watch made his death go down easier. It’s worth her people’s anger to give Raven the same.

“Please make sure Raven gets this,” she says and hands the sealed jar to Octavia.

Octavia looks up in surprise. “You’re not coming with us?” At his sister’s side, Bellamy’s face is expressionless but his eyes are filled with questions. Clarke looks away, avoids the choice she doesn’t want to make. 

“I need to see Indra.” Clarke risks a glance in Bellamy’s direction and the wounded look in his eyes breaks her heart but she can’t give him what he wants. She can’t be with him if it means forgetting everything she was raised to be. “I’d understand if you don’t want to wait.” 

Octavia’s gaze flicks between Bellamy and Clarke, understanding washing over her face. Clarke remembers the pain in her friend’s eyes over Lincoln’s loss. Octavia won’t force her brother to leave behind the girl he loves. “I want to stay too,” she says firmly. “I need to thank Indra for saving my life.” 

Murphy sighs heavily but Bellamy seizes the opportunity. “Okay. We talk to Indra before heading back.” He looks meaningfully at Clarke, lets her know that they’re not finished.

The morning passes slowly. Clarke, Octavia, and Nyko check on the wounded and Bellamy and Murphy take down the pyre. It’s almost mid-day when, as resident heda, Clarke gathers the survivors together. The Skaikru watch curiously as each mourner flushes the square with a pail of water so the remaining ashes seep into the ground. 

Clarke raises a hand and silence falls. “Osir stedaunon slip graun daun laik osir na tein emo.” _And our dead return to the ground where we will one day join them._

Beneath their feet, the land turns dark with death.

A horn sounds, two quick blasts followed by a long burst, and Clarke’s heart hammers in her chest. A heda is approaching – her _nomon_ is coming. Her people recognize the signal and gather in the square, a low murmur moving through the crowd. Clarke can see relief in their eyes, comfort in knowing that their true heda is returning, but she doesn’t blame them. She feels the same way, feels some of the weight lift from her shoulders because she no longer has to do this alone.

The warriors are first through the gate but Indra follows only a few paces behind, her long coat swirling around her boots. She’s a little thinner and her expression is more haunted, but she’s still Indra. She’s still her nomon. 

Clarke wants to run to her and throw her arms around her, maybe lift her off the ground like Bellamy during their reunion, but she digs her heels into the watery dirt and stays rooted in place. She fights to keep her face blank and her mouth flattened into a thin line. She fights to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She is Skaikru but Trikru most of all, and it’s their way to stay strong. 

If Indra is enduring the same struggle she shows no indication, her sharp, shrewd eyes assessing the assembled party. But Clarke knows her better than most, recognizes the tiny tremble of her bottom lip when her eyes land on her daughter, the strong chords of her throat working as she takes in her people’s mournful eyes, smells the faint whiff of charred meat that still lingers in the breeze. Death surrounds them but Indra is their heda – a show of strength is what she does best. There’s a new tattoo on her cheek, an angry whorl of blue flame curling towards her eye. It makes her look impossibly strong and fierce, like the leader her people need on this day, and it flares against her dark skin as she addresses the crowd. 

“Nau osir gon we osir gon. Nau osir gon we stedaun." _Today we put down our weapons. Today we mourn our dead._ Clarke bows her head in honor of the people she failed. 

Indra looks disapprovingly at Murphy but gives Octavia a nod of acknowledgement. Her gaze sweeps over Bellamy a moment longer than necessary, a threat lurking in those dark eyes. To his credit, Bellamy doesn’t back down, moves his hand to rest on his hip and expose the knife tucked into his belt. He doesn’t know it yet, but it was the right move, to meet Indra’s challenge with strength of his own. 

Her nomon’s eyes flicker with admiration but Clarke still steps in before Indra challenges Bellamy to show his dominance through feats of strength. “Heda, teik osir chich op.” _Let us speak._

Indra nods curtly. “Ai na bilaik der.” _I will be there._ She quickly turns away to talk with her attendants. It’s so different than Clarke’s reunion with Abby, but Clarke sees the tight set of Indra’s shoulders. Her nomon is just as eager to be with her, even if duty comes first.

“Damn, Clarke. Your other mom is a badass!” Murphy smirks at her and he isn’t wrong – Indra could level villages with a single withering look – but now isn’t the time to talk about it, not when it feels like every wasted second sends her closer to losing her carefully controlled composure.

“Shut up, Murphy,” Clarke says. She looks at Bellamy. “Can you keep him in check for a few minutes?”

“Of course.” He pauses, looks like he wants to say more. “I’m here,” he finally says. He doesn’t risk kissing her, but he lets his hand drop so it brushes against hers. 

“I know.” 

She carries the memory of this touch with her as she walks briskly to the tent, like an embrace only they can feel, and it helps her make it inside before she releases something from her chest, grief and pain but mostly relief. Kolya and Lincoln are lost, but Indra is back. She’s safe and whole and if anyone knows how to find them, it’s her nomon. She still taking deep, gulping breaths when Indra pulls back the entrance flap and steps inside.

For a long minute, her nomon simply stares at her, dark eyes raking her from head to toe, but then Indra’s rushing forward until she’s cupping Clarke’s face in her hands, letting her forehead fall so it rests against her daughter’s.

“Ai nona,” Indra whispers. “They told me you were dead.”

“I thought the same about you.” There are tears on Clarke’s cheeks, although their original owner is a mystery – Indra’s sniffling as she wraps her arms around her daughter and pulls her into a hug.

Her dark eyes still glisten with tears when Indra pulls back, but her expression is its normal scowl. “Tell me everything.”

They sit at the table and Clarke starts at the beginning, tells her about the battle at the dropship and capture by the Mountain Men, escaping Maunde with Anya and finding her mom at the Sky People’s camp. Indra is more curious about Abby than threatened, and mostly focused on what happened in tonDC the day before. 

“The skat told me of what you did. You should be very proud.” 

Clarke studies her hands, unwilling to let Indra see the guilt in her eyes. She doesn’t regret saving her people, but she took a life – there should have been another way. “Someone had to stop him.” She plays with a hangnail, picks at a scratch in the wooden table, anything to keep from looking at Indra.

“Klark kom Trigedakru,” Indra says sternly, the same voice that scolded Clarke for skipping out on chores or poorly carving a spear. It’s the steady voice of her childhood and she can no more look away than she can stop breathing. 

“Sha, nomon.”

“Look at me.” 

Slowly, Clarke raises her eyes, stares into Indra’s familiar face. It’s a face she’s trusted her entire life. There isn’t a reason to stop now. “The dead are gone and the living are hungry.”

“I killed someone,” Clarke whispers. “How am I different than him?”

Indra reaches across the table and takes her hand. “You did it to protect your people. That’s what makes you different.” She drops her gaze to Clarke’s collarbone, hidden beneath her Ark-issued jacket and shirt. “May I see your gona-kodon?” Her _warrior mark_ , her first kill branded forever right over her heart. 

She shakes her head. “I was waiting for you.” 

Indra squeezes her hand. “I am honored.” Many warriors carve their own marks, but it means something to Clarke – what she did to put it there, how she’ll live with it – and she wants to share it with someone that understands. 

Her nomon lets go of Clarke’s hand, a flinty hardness returning to her eyes. “Tell me again about the Maunon.”

“The air makes the Maunon sick. It literally makes them melt, but our blood heals them. They drain us of our blood and use it as medicine. They kill us so they can survive.” Indra’s face is its usual blank mask, but she grips the table so hard her knuckles bleach white. “There’s more,” Clarke continues. “It’s not just Trikru in Maunde now – they have Skaikru too. 

“The Skaikru are not our friends.”

Clarke grits her teeth to keep from letting out an exasperated scream. “But they’re not our enemies. They have weapons like the Maunde. We need to work together to get our people out of Mount Weather.”

Indra scoffs. “We have faced those weapons before.” Her expression is resolute. She’ll stay the course no matter how much it works against them, but Clarke knows her nomon is wrong. Before, they didn’t have the means, but now they have what they need to bring down the Mountain. 

She has one last card, one more play to make, and it’s dirty and shameful, but there’s no other way. “I saw Kolya in Maunde.”

Indra’s head snaps up, dark eyes flashing. “Do not say such a thing – ”

“He’s a Reaper, but it was him. I saw him clear as I’m seeing you.”

“Ripa,” Indra hisses, the color bleaching from her face. “Den em ste tedaun.” _Then he is already dead._

“No!” Clarke says fiercely. “I refuse to believe that. If Reapers are made, they can be unmade. The Skaikru have the tools to heal them.” She doesn’t know if her second claim is true, but if her mom could fix Raven’s spine, she can turn Reapers back into their former selves.

“That is why you completed the death ritual.” Indra still looks slightly dazed.

Indra might disagree, but Clarke knows she did the right thing. She doesn’t regret forcing peace. “I’m sick of war. Whatever differences we have with the Skaikru, they’re secondary to getting our people out of Mount Weather.” She pauses and takes a steadying breath. “I almost died there, Nomon. The day I escaped, I overheard them talking about trying out a new test on me. I got out but I left so many people behind. I promised I’d be back and I intend to keep that promise.”

The look in Indra’s eyes shifts, admiration replacing the accusation. “You would make a fine heda.” 

It’s the highest of compliments, being compared to the Lexa, but Clarke isn’t looking for glory. She wants to spend time with Abby, to return Kolya and Lincoln to health, to spend her days learning the dips and curves of Bellamy’s body. She’s looking for peace and she knows how to find it. 

“I must return with the Skaikru.” She doesn’t mean forever, but still, it’s a choice. She hopes it’s the right one.

“The Heda will want you at her council.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Tell Lexa what I told you. My mother is the leader of the Skaikru – I can convince her to join our cause.”

Indra watches her closely. “What is your won nomon like?” Her question is casual, but there’s more to her words. She and Bellamy have more in common than they realize – she’s asking Clarke to make a choice.

“She is strong,” Clarke says carefully. “She will want to do the right thing.” 

“And you?”

“I want to get our people – all our people – out of Maunde.

She didn’t get the answer she wanted but Indra doesn’t press further, doesn’t force her daughter to choose earth or sky. Instead, she thinks for a moment, her brow knitted in concentration as she contemplates her decision. “Alright. You will go to the Skaikru kamp and secure an alliance with their leader. Once the alliance is set, you will return here. 

Clarke doesn’t like being told what to do, but it’s a fair trade, a chance to broker the peace she craves, so she agrees to Indra’s terms. “Sha, nomon.” Indra nods, the deal set, and begins to rise. “One more thing.” Clarke digs into her pocket and pulls out Anya’s tightly bound braid. “For Lexa, so she can say goodbye to her friend.” 

Indra takes the braid and bows her head. “Em gonplei ste odon.”

“She is still at Camp Jaha. I will also bury her upon my return.”

“And then we will have peace.” Indra speaks in her usual flat tone, but there’s hope in her eyes: that her daughter can make an alliance, that her son can come home, that the Mountain will finally fall.

Clarke doesn’t hide the hope in her smile. “And then we will have peace.” 

They walk together into the square, ready to set their plans in motion. Indra dispatches a rider to Lexa’s camp with a request for gonas to follow Clarke to Camp Jaha, and orders another attendant to prepare food and water for the Skaikru’s trip. Octavia and Murphy are missing, the former likely helping Nyko with the wounded, and Clarke doesn’t want to know where the latter is hiding, but Bellamy approaches, hands splayed open to show he carries no weapons. 

He addresses Indra directly. “Clarke says we are at peace.”

Indra regards him coolly. “The ritual is complete. It was not my choice, but it is our way to keep our promises. We are at peace.” 

He holds out a hand. “To peace.” Indra stares at it for a long moment, as confused as Anya on the bridge, before she firmly shakes his hand.

“To peace,” she says.

Clarke ducks her head to hide her proud smile. She’s not okay, not by a long shot, but it feels good to achieve this one small thing. It makes all the other obstacles seem possible to overcome.

“Come,” Indra says when she and Bellamy break apart. “We will complete your gona-kodon.”

Bellamy looks at her curiously as they follow Indra to the gona fire, but doesn’t ask for clarification and Clarke doesn’t offer any. In a few minutes, he’ll know what it means for a Trigeda to take a life. 

She sits on an overturned log and removes her jacket and shirt so she’s wearing nothing but the strange breast band she got in the Mountain.

Indra examines her critically. “Yu luk laik emo.” _You look like them._

Clarke shrugs her shoulders and pulls her hair back with a leather tie. “Ai kom Trikru en Skaikru,” she says and gestures at the knife heating over the fire. “Get on with it.”

The log shifts slightly as Bellamy sits down beside to her, eyeing the knife in Indra’s hand. “I don’t know what’s happening but that has to hurt.” He slips his fingers between hers. “I’m here.”

It’s something she’s supposed to do alone, branding her kill into the flesh of her chest, but she doesn’t have the heart to push Bellamy away. He was there when she put a bullet in Finn’s chest and helped her clean up the aftermath. He should be there to see it through.

“I know,” she says and braces herself for what’s to come.

Indra comes to stop in front of her. “Ogeda baga souda wan op.” _All enemies must die._

Clarke swallows hard. “Ogeda baga souda wan op oso na kik raun.” _Our enemies must die so we can live._

The knife flashes and then its tip cuts into Clarke’s chest, hissing as it makes contact and sending up a faint aroma of burning skin. She doesn’t cry or even cry out, but she squeezes Bellamy’s hand with all her might. It hurts more than anything she’s ever felt, electric and blinding, but then Bellamy’s rubbing circles across her palm with his thumb and it doesn’t seem so bad. Slowly, the pain subsides and the pressure eases back from her eyes and her skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire. All awhile, Bellamy keeps stroking her palm.

“What was that?” he asks when Indra leaves to get a bandage. 

Clarke shrugs and immediately regrets it, a new flare of pain shooting across her skin. “Every time we slay an enemy in battle, we record it on our bodies.”

“As a trophy of your kills?” 

“As a reminder that it could have been us. Life is hard on the ground and we must fight for what is ours.”

“But you’re a healer.” They’re the same words he said to her their first night together, but she can’t give him the same answer.

“I’m more than that now.” 

Indra approaches and he drops her hand, but the look in his eyes tells a different story. “What I said last night at the pools – nothing’s changed.”

His words stay with her as she says goodbye to Indra and when she follows the Skaikru into the woods. She wants to hug her nomon goodbye or kiss her cheeks, but there are rules to follow and decorum to maintain, so she bows her head in Trikru fashion and walks out of the village. 

The team is quiet when they make camp an hour or so after dark, and while they chew the dried jerky that makes up their dinner. The days are hot but the nights are growing cooler and they have a small fire burning for warmth. The crackling logs are the only noise in the clearing.

Bellamy breaks the silence, puts down the stick he was stripping of its bark and looks at Clarke. “The language you speak with your people, what’s it called?” 

She hesitates, unsure if she wants to spill more Trikru secrets, but she remembers her own words, her insistence that the Skaikru are not their enemies, and if they’ll be working together, they need to speak the same language.

“My people are called Trikru – Woods People.”

“Like the English word “crew.”

Clarke nods. “Kru is our word for people –”

“So it’s really just bastardized English.”

She huffs. “We have a few loan words from other languages – kaiju means monster, jaeger means hunter – but it’s _modified_ English.”

Bellamy’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “So tell us about it.”

She accepts his challenge. “Our language is called Trigedasleng, or language of the Woods People. We speak it so the Mountain Men cannot understand us, but also because it is ours.” It’s a point of pride for the Trigedakru, the only thing the Mountain hasn’t been able to take from them.

Murphy pipes up. “But you speak English.”

“Gonas – warriors – speak English so they can understand the Mountain’s patrols. I speak it because it’s my first language. We call it gonasleng – Warrior’s language.”

“Could you teach us a little?” Bellamy asks. 

“I can speak it,” Octavia boasts. “Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru and ai gaf gouthru klir.” _My name is Octavia of the Sky People and I seek safe passage_

She speaks in halting, poorly accented Trigedasleng, but Clarke still understands her. “Heya, Okteivia kom Skaikru. Yu laik breik au kamp raun osir graun." _Welcome, Octavia of the Sky People. You are free to travel through our lands_.

Octavia blinks in confusion and Clarke laughs, laughs for a few seconds longer than necessary. It feels good to laugh and soon Octavia and Bellamy are laughing with her. Even Murphy cracks a smile. 

Clarke points to Bellamy. “Yu Belomi.” She points to Murphy. “Yu Mofi.” She smiles at Octavia. “You already know your name.”

They practice the Trigedasleng versions of their names then move to more complex phrases. By the time they’re ready to sleep, the whole group can introduce themselves and say a few choice words.

Octavia and Murphy offer to take the first watch and to Clarke’s surprise, Bellamy doesn’t protest. He does share a wordless exchange with Murphy that’s comprised entirely of fierce glares, but then he makes up a bedroll on the other side of the fire and gestures for Clarke to lie down. Murphy whistles, low and suggestive, and Bellamy tells him to fuck off before curling up behind her. 

“Are you sure Octavia should be on watch?” Clarke likes his sister, but the only people with actual guard experience are huddled under a blanket together.

Bellamy sighs, warm breath blowing the hair off Clarke’s neck. “My sister spent her entire life waiting to die. She’s the most vigilant person I know.”

“She told me a little about it. She lived under the floor?”

His arms tighten around her and she snuggles closer. “On the Ark, you were allowed one child. My mom knew the law and had Octavia anyway. Her entire world was just my mom and me, a doll and a blanket and a hole in the floor. I don’t regret it because I can’t imagine my life without her, but what kind of life was that?” 

Clarke turns so she’s facing him, gently runs her fingers through his hair. He’s spent the last day holding her together – it’s her turn to comfort him. “She had you. I think that’s a pretty great life.”

He laughs, a low rumble against her neck that makes her shiver. “You didn’t know me then.”

“I didn’t have to.” 

She won’t kiss him, not with Octavia and Murphy less than ten feet away, but she likes being close to him. She likes being there for him the way he was for her. She can’t kiss him but she can show him how she feels in other ways. 

“Ai hod yu in,” she whispers, takes his big, strong hand and presses it over her heart.

They’re new words, but he doesn’t have to know them to understand their meaning, not with her heart beating wildly beneath his palm. 

“Ai hod yu in,” he says slowly and bends his head to kiss her. It’s a tame kiss but she feels it all the same, that sense of completeness that only comes from being with him.

It’s what gets her through the night, lets her wake the next day and face the things that she’s done.

 

* * *

 

Octavia’s eyes are open when Clarke and Bellamy shake her and Murphy awake at dawn, and even without the information she learned the night before, Clarke thinks she wouldn’t be surprised. 

Clarke is used to silence. She learned to be quiet if she wanted to survive in these woods, but of the Skaikru, only Octavia seems at peace. It’s noises that throw her off – the snap of a boot stepping on a twig, an eagle’s caw – and Clarke makes a note to tell Indra of Octavia’s skills. She could make a fine gona with the right training.

She’s thinking about other things as she catches sight of Camp Jaha. From this distance, it’s mostly a dull metal blur, but the enormous Go-Sci wheel is hard to miss. Her chest feels tight from the slightest glimpse and Finn’s ashes feel impossibly heavy in her pack. She took them back from Octavia that morning, another burden she must bear. 

“You ready?” Bellamy asks as they crest the final hill. The fence’s sleek wires glitter in the sunshine and she raises a hand to shade her eyes. She isn’t ready but she took Finn’s life. Now she has to stand up and face it before his people.

There’s shouting when they reach the gate, guards bearing down on them with cocked and aimed rifles, but this time Clarke doesn’t fall. She calmly hands them her gun and puts her hands up and waits patiently for her mom to approach. Abby looks relieved that they’re alive, but also furious for what they did. 

“Inside. Now.” She storms towards the Ark and they mutely follow. Even Murphy goes without complaint.

She leads them to the meeting room and tells them to wait for the rest of the council. Byrne arrives with the curly, dark-haired man and a few others Clarke doesn’t recognize. They all watch the younger participants with thinly veiled annoyance. 

Abby is practically shaking with fury. “You could have _died_ out there.”

Clarke flinches, the tightness in her chest winching around her heart. Her mom has no idea how close to the truth she is.

Byrne’s eyes flick over the group. “Where’s Finn Collins?”

Murphy suddenly finds the floor fascinating and Octavia looks pained and Bellamy opens his mouth to say something but Clarke beats him to it. It’s her sin, her confession.

“I killed him.” 

More noise erupts but Abby’s voice cuts through the din, flat and razor sharp and so much like Indra’s that for a second Clarke forgets where she is. The woman standing before her is nothing like the bawling, blubbering mess from her first night in Camp Jaha. “Everybody out but Byrne and the kids.”

When the Council leaves, Abby turns to them and crosses her arms over her chest, exhaustion replacing some of the anger on her face. She looks less like the Chancellor and more like a mom and Clarke finds it harder to tell her tale. She doesn’t want to disappoint her mom when she’s just found her again.

“Tell us everything,” Abby says wearily.

They tell her as a group. Bellamy explains what happened with Delano and Murphy shares what happened at tonDC. All eyes turn to Clarke when he’s finished.

“You shot Finn to stop a massacre?” Abby asks.

Clarke nods, unsure of her voice if she tries to speak.

Byrne looks less convinced. “Why did you have guns?”

Again, Bellamy tries to explain but Clarke gets there first. “I thought we should bring them. After what I saw in the Mountain, I knew knives and spears wouldn’t be enough.”

“So you shot him. You didn’t try to talk to him or take out a knee. You put a bullet in his chest and now he’s dead.”

“Byrne – ” Abby starts.

“I’d do it again,” Clarke interrupts. “If it meant saving my people, I’d do it again.”

She stares at Byrne, anger replacing the grief and guilt pressing on her chest. No matter how terrible she feels, her only real regret is getting there too late. She takes a step forward, eyes flaring with irritation.

“She killed a man,” Byrne says. “Per the Exodus Charter, the punishment for murder is death.”

Clarke blinks in surprise. Of all the potential consequences, she never thought she’d lose her own life.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me – ” Bellamy says and Octavia’s hand goes for the knife hidden in her boot but the Chancellor steps in before it gets violent.

“While I appreciate your input, Major Byrne, we’re no longer in space.” Abby rubs her back and Byrne looks away guiltily. “On the ground, we need new rules.” She glances at Bellamy, Octavia, and Murphy. “You three have double guard shifts for the next week. There’s a mission leaving tomorrow and I want you on it.” She turns her attention to Clarke. “The Council will decide what to do with you.”

Bellamy starts protesting again but the guards have guns and he eventually stomps out. The Council files in and take seats at the table and Clarke boldly meets their eyes, the way she looked at Indra her first day on earth. She knew better than to show weakness then. She needs to be even stronger today.

Under the weight of their indifferent stares, she repeats her story about tonDC. She holds back no details, tells them about Pia and Artigas’ deaths, about trying and failing to save Ina and the others. She tells them about the death ritual and the peace she achieved. She emphasizes how much they need her people to get theirs out of Mount Weather.

“I know I killed someone,” she says in conclusion. “But he wasn’t innocent. I did it to save my people. I know you’d do the same to save yours.”

The Council no longer looks indifferent but curious, maybe even sympathetic. Clarke thinks she might get out of this alive.

She finds Bellamy waiting outside the meeting room, one hand tightly gripping Murphy’s throat as he holds him against the wall. “I swear, if anything happens to her, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

He eases his grip when he spots Clarke, and Murphy pushes away, gingerly rubbing his neck. “I got it, Bellamy. Nothing will happen to your princess.”

As a show of peace, Clarke steps forward. “I appreciate your testimony but I don’t want you lying for me.”

Murphy exchanges a look with Bellamy and swallows hard. “I do what I’m told.” The door slams behind him with a loud bang.

Bellamy stares at the closed door for a long minute, then slides down the opposite wall and buries his head in his hands. “I hope I didn’t make things worse.”

Clarke slides down next to him. “I don’t think you did.” Clarke remembers Petr, the thief Indra punished in the square, and the desperation in his eyes whenever another villager looked at him. More than he’d wanted his back to heal, he’d wanted to belong. She saw the same look in Murphy’s eyes.

They’re sitting silently when the door opens, glancing up in unison when Murphy closes it behind him. “I told the truth,” he says. 

“Thank you,” Clarke says and rises so she can shake his hand. She doesn’t want to die, but she also doesn’t want to live at someone else’s expense. The Council will punish Murphy if they find out he lied for her. Bellamy gets up too and glares at Murphy rather than shake his hand.

“Right,” Murphy grumbles. “Later.”

“You could be nicer,” Clarke says once Murphy’s gone. “He did the right thing.”

“He tried to kill me at the dropship.”

“What?” 

Bellamy nods. “Because I banished him after what happened with Charlotte. I trusted him out there because he needed us to stay alive, but back here? He’s only looking out for number one.” He pauses, smiles down at her. “I’m looking out for you.”

He bends his head to kiss her just as the door opens and Abby steps out. She clears her throat. “We’ve come to a decision.”

“I’m here,” he says and Clarke smiles, to let him know it’s okay, that _they’ll_ be okay no matter what the Council decides, but goes into the meeting room alone. 

She’s met with a sea of impassive faces when she takes her seat at the opposite side of the table, but there’s a hint of a smile curving her mom’s mouth that lets her know that whatever the punishment, it isn’t death. Still, she holds her breath while she waits for the blow to fall.

“You’ve been cleared of all charges,” Abby declares. “Given the circumstances and your status as an outsider, we’ve ruled in your favor.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says and releases that breath. It will be easier to move forward without a death sentence hanging over her head.

“You’re free to go,” Abby says and gestures for everyone to leave.

“Actually, I’d like to stay.” Byrne pauses in rising to her feet. “Our people are still in Mount Weather. I’m here to secure an alliance.”

“Chancellor, she shouldn’t be in camp – ” Byrne starts.

“She’s right about the alliance. We need her people to get the kids out of Mount Weather.” Abby turns her attention to Clarke. “You’ll be stripped of weapons so long as you’re in this camp. Understood?”

Clarke nods. “Some of my people are on their way and I need to be here when they arrive. Please tell the guards not to shoot on sight.”

Abby turns to Byrne. “Make sure your team receives that message. We don’t want to start another war.”

Byrne doesn’t look happy but doesn’t push back. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow for the mission, but we’ll discuss the alliance once I’m back in camp,” Abby says.

“Okay.”

“Raven tells me that you have medical training,” Abby continues. “Jackson can always use another set of hands.” 

“I’d be happy to help.”

“Great.”

They stare at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do. Clarke thinks she should hug her mom, but maybe it’s inappropriate when she’s in Chancellor-mode? Indra would have been furious if Clarke showed her affection in public. But Abby decides for her and pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

After a second’s pause, Clarke hugs her back. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

Abby pulls back to study Clarke’s face. “I wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow. How about dinner?”

Clarke wants to disappear into Bellamy’s tent, but she can see the longing in Abby’s eyes, the need to connect with the child she almost lost again, so she readily agrees. “Of course.”

Abby looks pointedly at the closed door where Bellamy is patiently waiting to learn her daughter’s fate. “Your boyfriend can come too.”

Clarke blushes, a hot flush staining her cheeks. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, tripping over the last word. There’s no English translation for houmon. She doesn’t know how to explain what it means to carry another person’s heart inside her own.

Her mom laughs, a knowing smile brightening her face. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

She ducks her head, feeling like a kid again for the first time in weeks, like that first dance with Kolya after the first thaw. She holds on tight – she isn’t sure if she’ll ever feel this way again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, Murphy’s shaping up to have a big supporting role in this fic. It wasn’t planned but as the story developed, it just made sense. Hope that’s cool because I’m enjoying writing him. Lexa appearance in the next chapter – she’s going to return to Clarke’s life in a major way. Finally, I apologize that this chapter is both delivered late and does little to move the plot forward. I wanted to have something up because it had been a while since I posted, even if most of the big action happens next chapter. Things to look forward to. Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	11. The Path of the Righteous - Part V

 

* * *

 

As predicted, Bellamy is waiting when Clarke opens the door to the meeting room. 

Her mom pulls her close and whispers in her ear. “Go ahead, give him the good news. I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready.” She drops a kiss on the crown of Clarke’s head then leaves them alone.

Bellamy pushes away from the wall and looks at her expectantly. “Well?”

Despite the day’s events, she can’t help the enormous grin that threatens to split her face. “Cleared,” she says and watches the breath release from his chest. 

He wraps her in a crushing hug and buries his face in her hair. He doesn’t say anything for a full minute. “All the Ark has ever done is take away the things I love.”

She pulls back to study his face, the broad planes of his cheeks and the dark depths of his eyes. They’re bright with tears. “The ground seems to give back the things I lost.” She rubs the tears from his cheeks. “We’re going to be okay.”

He looks at her for a long moment, like he’s drinking her in, then bends his head and kisses her, bites her lower lip so she moans and he can slip his tongue into her mouth. Her back slams into the wall and his hands creep under her shirt, slide up her stomach to cup her breast. She’s vaguely aware that she’s supposed to be elsewhere but it’s hard to remember when she can feel him hard and ready between her thighs. 

It comes to her as his fingers start tugging on the zipper of her pants. “My mom wants us to have dinner,” she blurts out and he groans, and not in a good way. His hands drop to his sides and he rests his forehead against the cool metal of the wall. 

“Way to kill the mood,” he says.

She laughs and his chest rumbles against hers so they’re laughing together. “She did invite you,” Clarke says when she can catch her breath.

Bellamy straightens, a surprisingly somber expression on his face. “I can’t.”

“Bell – ”

“Even if I wasn’t her least favorite person in camp, I think Octavia needs me right now. She’s having a hard time dealing with what happened to Lincoln.”

She wants to ask about Bellamy’s strained relationship with Abby, but Octavia comes first. With all that transpired over the past few days, she hasn’t had time to grieve her loss, to come to terms with what Lincoln’s become. Clarke feels her cheeks flush with guilt. It’s time she thinks of someone other than herself. 

“Another time.”

That somber look doesn’t leave his face. “Come find me after.”

It’s more than a request – it’s an invitation – and she can see how hard he’s working to keep his expression neutral. Her mom will want the Griffin women bunking down together, but his tent feels like home. She can’t imagine being anywhere else.

She kisses him, a gentle press of her mouth against his. “I’ll find you.”

They walk together down the hallway and he pauses at the main door, cheeks slightly flushed. “I like it when you call me Bell.”

He takes off before she can respond, but she feels that same enormous grin curve her mouth. 

She’s still smiling like a fool when she knocks on her mom’s door, and if Abby notices, she doesn’t say anything as she ushers her inside. She does look relieved that her daughter came alone, and Clarke makes a note to discuss it later.

“Did you have trouble getting here?”

Clarke takes her seat at the table. “I stopped by the med-bay to introduce myself to Jackson and he walked me over.”

“He’s a good medic. I know you’re supposed to be working with him tomorrow, but you’re welcome to come with us. I’d like it if you did.” 

Clarke’s curious about the mission, but not enough to break her promise to Indra. Two gonas will be at the gate at dawn and Anya deserves a true Trigedakru burial. And even if she didn’t have those responsibilities, Finn’s death weighs heavily on her heart. She took a life and her atonement has just begun. Helping Jackson in the med-bay is a start. 

She shakes her head. “I need to be here when my people arrive.”

“Of course,” Abby says and gestures at the food. “Please, eat.”

Dinner is the thick gray paste Clarke remembers from the Ark, a sticky, vaguely gelatinous blob that barely moves when she pokes it with her fork. She takes a tentative bite and wishes she hadn’t. It’s bland and grainy and gets stuck in her throat when she tries to swallow.

“It’s exactly like I remember,” she says after a sip of water that only somewhat clears the blockage.

Abby laughs then takes a small bite of her own dinner. “I know it’s not much, but it has all the calories you need.” 

Clarke takes another bite, smaller this time, and it goes down in two swallows. The third goes down on the first try and she starts getting the hang of it. Throughout, Abby does nothing but stare at her. At first, Clarke ignores it, but eventually it’s too distracting to disregard. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Abby’s eyes soften, tears pooling in the corners. “I missed everything.”

“I’m just eating dinner.”

“Whenever I saw Wells, I thought of you. Every time he got bigger, or learned something new, I wondered if you were doing it too.” A tear slides down Abby's cheek. “You’re all grown up and I wasn’t there.”

Clarke puts down her fork and clasps her hands in her lap. She doesn’t know what to say to make it better, to fill the hole in her mother’s heart from all those years apart. She’s still trying to repair her own. 

She doesn’t know what to say, but she has questions, one in particular that she’s wanted to ask for twelve years. “Why didn’t you come with us?”

Abby pales, more tears slipping down her cheeks. “I was supposed to be on that ship. Your dad stumbled into his hypothesis by accident. But that’s all it was – a hypothesis. He had no real proof and I didn’t feel comfortable risking our lives – your life – on a hunch. But he was so sure…” She takes a deep breath and brushes the tears away. “On the day you launched, we had a fight. I wanted him to wait a few years, until you were old enough to decide for yourself, but he wouldn’t let you breathe one more day of processed air. Thelonius – Well’s dad – was his closest friend and I went to him for advice. He told the council instead. There wasn’t any time. They were still trying to open the airlock doors to arrest him when the ship launched.” She holds up her hand and wiggles a crooked middle finger. “I pounded so hard on the glass that I almost broke my hand and all I could do was watch you go. Twelve years have passed and I still remember the exact moment my heart broke.” 

For a long minute Clarke can’t breathe, not with Abby’s pain sucking up all the air in the room, but then it comes to her, the memories of her first days breathing fresh air, and she struggles to see her mom through the tears blurring her vision. 

“I waited for you my first year on the ground,” she says quietly. “Every night I watched the sky and waited for a dropship to come. I waited for you to bring me home.” She takes Abby’s hand, grips it in her own so they both have something solid to cling to. “But then I made a new home, a _good_ home, and I was happy. I missed you but I was happy. I was happy, Mom. That’s the part that matters.”

Abby smiles through her tears. “It feels so good to hear you call me that.”

Clarke flushes, but smiles back. Her mom isn’t the only one that likes being called by a special name.

They turn back to their food but Abby never actually brings her fork to her mouth. Clarke struggles through another bite of nutrition paste. She can’t believe it’s all she would have known had she stayed on the Ark. 

“I thought Bellamy was coming,” Abby finally says. Her tone is casual, but the strained set of her mouth betrays her nonchalance.

Again, Clarke sets down her fork but she’s ready for this conversation. It’s been on her mind since she left Bellamy in the hall and her mom has provided the perfect opening. “He’s eating with his sister.”

She watches her mom closely as Abby pushes her food around on her plate. “I was hoping he’d join us. I’d like to get to know him better.”

“Really?” 

Clarke’s tone is sharper than intended and Abby’s head jerks up, all pretense of indifference gone. “How well do you know him?”

“Well enough. He saved my life.”

Abby looks surprised. “When?”

“When we first met. My people defend our land with more than bows and spears.” She pauses a moment, pushing aside memories of what happened to Kolya just minutes before Bellamy found her. “I fell into a pit filled with razor sharp spikes. He pulled me out.”

“That was brave of him.”

Clarke shrugs. “It was the right thing to do. That’s who he is.”

“There are things you don’t know about him.”

She looks her mom straight in the eye. “I _know_ him.

“He tried to assassinate the chancellor,” Abby says. “It was a stroke of luck that Thelonius survived, but it doesn’t change what Bellamy did. He’s a killer.”

It’s like she’s been slapped, the force of the guilt and shame that makes Clarke’s head snap back. “So am I.”

Abby’s cheeks turn red, horror spreading across her face. “You’re not – . I didn’t mean – .” 

Clarke’s annoyed with Abby’s blanket assessment of Bellamy, but she doesn’t want to fight. And her mom isn’t entirely wrong. Bellamy has done terrible things, but he feels the full weight of his mistakes. He’ll spend the rest of his life working to repair them. She knows she will too. 

“He’s not that person anymore. He might have been the first few days on the ground, but he’s changed. You’ve seen how hard he’s fighting to bring our people home. That’s the man he is now.” Clarke raises her head, meets her mom’s stricken gaze. “That’s the man I love.”

Abby’s eyes round slightly, her mouth too. “Wow. You really are all grown up.” She blushes again. “Are you…are you being safe?”

“Mom!” Clarke isn’t ashamed, but it’s unlikely it will ever be anything but awkward talking about sex with her mom.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Despite her flushed cheeks, Abby’s eyes are gravely serious. 

“Yes, we’re being safe.” She thinks of Tea and her dead son, his little blue face and the bloody cord wrapped round his neck. She doesn’t think she could go through that herself. 

Abby deflates in relief. “Thank god. It’s not that I don’t want grandchildren, but not just yet.”

Clarke hasn’t thought much about children except for being terrified of them, of the damage they can cause to her body, her heart, her very soul. She could die bearing them, and she isn’t ready to let go. Not just yet. “My nomon – my Trikru mother – she told me what to do."

“Tell me about her,” Abby says, a soft smile curving her mouth. It eases some of the panic forming a tight knot in Clarke’s chest. “I want to hear about the woman that raised my amazing child.”

The anxiety lessens as she spins stories of Indra and Abby sits rapt on the other side of the table, soaking up everything she can learn about the other woman to mother her daughter. Abby talks about the Ark and her life there, not as in depth, but enough for Clarke to fully grasp what she left behind. She doesn’t think she’d trade, even if it meant growing up with the mother that birthed her. She likes the life she had. She likes the person it taught her to be.

They part with a warm hug and promises for another dinner when Abby returns. Clarke wishes her good luck and closes the door behind her, leans against it to process all that’s happened, Bellamy and the Ark and why she grew up without her mom. It’s almost too much and the night isn’t over yet. She still needs to tell Raven about Finn.

A helpful guard guides her to the engineering shed and she opens the door to find Raven hunched over her workbench, some kind of metal tool clenched in her hand. She doesn’t look up until Clarke taps her on the shoulder.

Raven smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m in a rush to get these radios ready for the mission tomorrow and kind of forgot about the rest of the world. When did you get back?”

“A few hours ago.” Clarke grabs a spare stool and sits down.

“You found Finn?” Again, Clarke feels like she’s been punched, Raven’s bright smile slamming into her like a fist. Raven sobers slightly. “Where is he? I’m the first person he’d check in with.”

Slowly, Clarke pulls the earthen jar from her pocket. “He didn’t make it.”

Raven blinks wide, dry eyes. “What?”

“He…” Clarke trails off, searches for the right words. She doesn’t want to paint Finn as a monster to the person that loved him most. “He kind of lost his mind,” she finally says. “He opened fire on a Grounder village and killed eighteen people.” She leaves the jar next to Raven’s elbow. “I’m the one that made him stop.”

Raven stares at her for a long moment and then her face breaks, her expression contorting into something so agonizing it’s almost inhuman, like the Reapers Clarke saw in the tunnels under the mountain. Raven doesn’t look much different.

“Please, get out,” Raven hisses.

Clarke nods, gestures at the jar. “I thought you might want to say goodbye – ”

“Get the fuck out!”

Clarke retreats silently, cringing as something crashes against the door she’s just closed behind her. Howling wails fill the shed and tears spring to her own eyes. It couldn’t be helped but it still hurts to rip a hole in another person’s heart.

She’s a good tracker, all Trikru are, and she numbly finds her way to Bellamy’s tent. She opens the flap with shaky hands, the memory of Raven’s anguished face burned into her eyes. It hurts more than taking a life, causing another person so much pain. She’s coming to terms with Finn’s death, but she’ll see Raven every day. That guilt might never go away.

When she steps into the tent, Bellamy’s wearing a suggestive smile that quickly fades to sympathy. “That bad, huh?”

She shakes her head, still feeling a little numb. “I went to see Raven.”

Bellamy’s expression shifts to deep concern. He opens his arms wide. “Come here.”

Clarke doesn’t cry like she thought she might, but clings to him, so warm and solid beneath her cheek. He draws them towards the bed and lies down so she’s sprawled across his chest, his hands absently rubbing her back. 

“Raven hates me,” she says, her words muffled by the cloth of Bellamy’s shirt.

“She won’t forever.” 

“You didn’t see her face. It’s like I broke her heart from the inside out.”

His hands still and he wraps his arms around her. “She’ll forgive you.”

“I really don’t think – ”

“I know she will because Octavia forgave me.”

“What are you talking about?”

His arms tighten and she snuggles in closer. She likes being there for him for a change. “You know that Octavia was locked up, but I never told you why. There was a dance, a masquerade ball in honor of Carnivale – ”

“Carnivale?” The Trikru celebrate many festivals, but this one isn’t familiar.

“It’s an old tradition from the Brazilian station. The original holiday was a Christian feast day, and while we don’t celebrate the religious components anymore, everyone looks forward to the party. I was a cadet, training to be in the guard, and my unit was working security. Everyone was wearing masks…I wanted O to have one night as a normal girl.”

“But something went wrong.”

His sigh is laced with regret. “A solar flare, the first in over a year, but it meant checking IDs. Octavia was never registered. The Ark didn’t know she existed and when they did…my mom was floated the next day. They tried to float me and O too.”

“What happened?”

He laughs, hollow and caustic. “Your mom, actually. She said Octavia shouldn’t be blamed for our mother’s crime, that I shouldn’t be punished for perpetuating her lie. They made me a janitor and put O in a Skybox, but they didn’t kill us. That whole year, I wished they had. I got my mom killed and my sister locked up and I just went on living my life.

She takes Bellamy’s hand and rubs slow circles across the fleshy part of his thumb, comforts him the way he comforted her when Indra pressed a red-hot knife to her chest. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. No one could have.”

“You didn’t see the look in Octavia’s eyes when they took her away. She trusted me implicitly – entirely – and I led her to her doom.”

Clarke’s quiet as she digests his confession. She’s particularly focused on the part that involves her mother; it doesn’t match with the conversation they had at dinner an hour ago. But it also makes her proud of the woman her mother became, a woman who could see past existing prejudices to do what’s right. It’s the kind of woman Indra raised her to be, the woman she’s still working to be, the man she knows Bellamy wants to be. He just needs a little help seeing it.

“She loves you, Bell.” He stiffens slightly at her use of the pet name, his breath catching in his chest. Clarke presses a kiss over his heart. “You were trying to do right by her and things got out of control. That’s not your fault. She told me a little about her life on the Ark, how helpless she felt, but that’s not how it is on the ground. Your mother put her in that cage. You set her free.” 

“My mom’s still dead.”

“But you’re here and Octavia is too. You can finally have the life your mom wanted for you. Honor her by living it.”

“You’re very wise.”

She sucks in a pained breath. “My brother is a Reaper. The day we met, he sacrificed himself so I could get away. It’s why I wasn’t paying attention where I was running. It’s why I want to end the war, to make something better for him.”

Bellamy presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “If you show me how, I’m willing to try.”

“Start tomorrow. Your sister needs you and you’ll be together on the mission.” She pauses, realizes she never actually asked what it’s about. “Where are you going anyway?”

“Mount Weather. Relax,” he adds when he sees the concerned look on her face. “We’re not actually going in the mountain. They’re jamming our communications systems and Raven wants to blow up their radio tower. I’m just providing security while Wick does his thing.”

“So you could sneak away...”

“I like the way you think. What do you want me to do?”

She pushes off him and reaches for the notebook she keeps in her pack, quickly scribbles a rough map. “There are mines that run beneath the mountain. They’d be the perfect way to infiltrate Mount Weather, but not unless we find the entrance. Wanna take a look?”

Bellamy studies the map. “Make real progress on bringing our people home…what are you, a mind reader?”

She sets aside the book and straddles his hips, bends her head to kiss him slow and lazy, then harder and wetter. “I know you,” she says, bites his lip the way he taught her and captures his groan with her mouth.

He flips them over and he slides into the cradle of her thighs, makes quick work of removing her clothes. “I know _you_ ,” he whispers and pushes home, sinks so deep she can feel him everywhere, but especially in her heart. 

She falls asleep wrapped in his arms, cheek pillowed by the smooth skin of his chest, his heart beating even and steady beneath her ear. Hers beats to the same rhythm.

 

* * *

 

They wake at dawn and get ready for their respective missions. Clarke kisses him goodbye in their tent but follows him to the gate, watches the straight line of his back disappear into the trees with Octavia at his side. There’s an emptiness in her eyes that Clarke doesn’t like, but Bellamy assures her that he’ll look out for his sister and she trusts him. Octavia is his family. He knows what’s best for her. 

Abby wrings her hands when she stops to say goodbye. “We’ll be gone two days, three at most.” 

Clarke nods. “I’ll stick by Jackson.”

“Good. There’s a lot you can learn from each other.” She looks at Clarke and bites her lip from nerves. “You’ll be here when we get back?”

“I’ll be here.”

They exchange a hug that’s brief in length, but little different than the goodbyes that she’s shared with Indra. Abby isn’t marching off to war, but the woods have never been safe for her people. There’s always the chance Clarke won’t see her again.

She stays at the fence long after her mom and Lieutenant Miller file out, the last of the team to join the mission, and keeps her gaze honed in on the surrounding forest. Her people will be arriving any minute and while she reminded Byrne, she doesn’t trust the guard to look before firing. 

Rivo arrives on foot, striding confidently towards the gate despite the half dozen rifles aimed at his bald head. He holds his hands out to show he holds no weapons, although Clarke knows there’s a knife hidden in his boot, and likely another strapped to his thigh. She carries the former but not the latter, and says nothing as he’s patted down at the gate by a pair of overzealous guards. She trusts her mom and Bellamy and Octavia, but not the majority of the people in this camp. Even twenty feet away, a woman pushes a child behind her, watches the proceedings with narrowed eyes. Clarke won’t set one of her own loose amongst these people without a way to defend himself.

He joins Clarke by the fence when the guards release him. “Heya Klark. Weron ai heda?”

She points to a misshapen lump fifty yards away, braces herself for his reaction. He is from Anya’s village and will not like what she has to say. “Skaikru ste em graun. Osir na fleim au em gon sheidgeda.” _The Sky People put her in the ground. We will burn her tonight._

“Branwada,” he curses under his breath. It’s a grave insult to bury Trigedakru rather than burn them. Rivo’s hands clench into fists at the injustice done to his former leader.

“Emo nau ste laksen.” _They meant no harm._

He unclenches his fists. “Heda tel op osir gon treet op. Ai nou stot au wor.” _The Commander says we are at peace. I will not start a war._

Confident that he means what he says, Clarke turns back to the fence to wait for the second rider. It’s only ten minutes before Johan arrives on horseback, his golden hair gleaming in the early fall sunshine. Clarke’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach. She knew Lexa would send a trusted warrior, but Johan is part of her inner circle. Since Costia’s death, Lexa has reassembled her attendants and chosen fierce men, each bigger and broader than the next, loyal soldiers that will never claim her heart. Clarke thinks it’s why she hasn’t been called to duty even though Lexa impressed her into service when she was twelve – it’s too much of a risk to let another woman in.

“Heya Klark kom _Leksakru_ ,” Johan says and just like that, he makes his allegiance clear. On the surface he might be in the Skaikru camp to protect her, but he’s really been sent to gather intel. Clarke has been too. Lexa wants her to spy again, to keep her eyes and ears open and report back everything she sees and hears. She swallows down the knot in her belly. She doesn’t want to be disloyal, but she can’t be that girl again.

Johan assesses the camp, his shrewd gaze taking in the wreckage of the Ark and armed guards, the masses of civilians watching curiously from behind their electric fence.

“Don’t touch the fence. Clarke throws her canteen at the wires and it lights up in blue sparks. Rivo finally reacts, his eyes widening slightly as he takes it in. The Trikru have seen guns, but electricity is beyond them. She hopes they’re finally understanding why she keeps insisting the Skaikru are a threat. Their technology alone gives them an advantage.

The two warriors discuss their options, to go inside or stay outside the fence, and while it would be nice to have another Trigedakru in camp, Clarke doesn’t want a shadow, especially a shadow that will report her every move back to Lexa. 

“They’ll take your weapons,” she says, effectively ending the argument. She looks pointedly at Rivo’s boot, where the knife is hidden away, and Johan frowns, absently caressing the hilt of his sword. 

“Osir na ste hir,” Johan finally says and Rivo nods in agreement, standing sentinel outside the gate while Johan finds a place to tie up the horse. 

Clarke exhales in relief. “I’ll be back at dark to bury Anya.” 

She feels their eyes on her as she walks back through the gate, as it swings closed behind her and locks her in with the people they consider enemies. The Skaikru are no better. They step out of her path and turn their backs, but mostly watch her with wary eyes. They’ve heard stories about the Trikru and don’t know what to make of the girl that was born in their world but raised in another. The chancellor might have cleared her of any crimes, but her people aren’t so forgiving. 

It continues through the morning while she shadows Jackson in the med-bay and soaks up all she can of Skaikru medicine. At first, the Sky People ignore her and queue in Jackson’s line even though it’s twice as long, but then a young mother comes in with a bawling child, and chooses Clarke rather than wait for her son to be treated. 

Clarke is gentle with the child, a bright-eyed boy with shaggy dark hair that reminds her of Bellamy's. He has a deep cut on one arm from a bad fall too close to a piece of Ark wreckage, and she smiles kindly at the young mother while she examines the wound, then wipes it down with alcohol. It stings and the patient lets out a distressed cry.

“What’s your name?” Clarke smiles warmly as she preps the needle and threat.

He sniffles a little. “Enzo.”

She holds out her hand like she’s seen the Skaikru do numerous times. “I’m Clarke.” Slowly, and only after checking with his mother, he shakes her hand. “Enzo, you’re going to be just fine.” She holds up the needle. “I need to sew your cut together and it might hurt. It’s okay if you want to hold your mom’s hand.”

His mother gives his free hand a squeeze. “We’re ready.”

Clarke takes a breath and starts the first stitch. They don’t have anything to numb the pain, and tears slide steadily down Enzo’s cheek throughout the entire procedure. She hums while she works, hopes the melodic tones will distract the boy from the needle moving in and out of his arm. It seems like forever but lasts only a few minutes.

“All done,” she says and wraps a bandage around the wound. Enzo gives her a teary smile.

His mother nudges him. “What do you say to Clarke?”

“Thank you,” he whispers, wraps his arms around her waist, and buries his head in her stomach. 

She strokes his dark curls, suddenly overcome with emotion. Enzo’s blind acceptance is much appreciated after so many accusing stares.

“Thank you,” the mother echoes and carries her son away, stopping by Jackson’s long line before leaving the med-bay.

Whatever she said must have worked because Clarke’s line grows increasingly longer as the day passes, and there are patients she has to turn away so she can collect plants during her lunch break. She stops by water distribution for a large bucket to boil water for yarrow tea, and when she finally gets back to the med-bay, Raven is glaring at her.

Jackson looks apologetic. “She has physical therapy from 2:00 - 3:00. Can you hold down the fort?”

Clarke glances at the line and while it’s long, most injuries are minor. There’s a lot of construction happening in the camp and too many unskilled workers carrying it out. “No problem.”

A few people either leave or insist on waiting for Jackson, but most of the line accepts Clarke’s treatment, especially a man with a dislocated shoulder that hugs her when she twists it back into place. She makes small talk throughout and answers the incessant questions about how she got to the ground and her life there, but it’s hard to concentrate with Raven’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

Her anger is like a living, seething beast, sucking up all the air in the room and sucking the breath from Clarke’s lungs with each beat of Raven’s heart. Clarke longs to talk to her and rebuild their friendship, but Raven needs space and it’s the one thing she can give her. She shakes her head to clear it and focuses on her patient, the dark-haired girl Bellamy rescued, and rubs the last of her yarrow paste over the blistered calluses peppering the girl’s fingers. She can’t help Raven, but she can do this – she can help the people Finn wanted to save. 

It’s long past dark when she finally leaves the med-bay and joins Johan and Rivo for a silent meal of jerky and boiled river water before starting their grim work. She’d talked it over earlier with Sinclair, the nominal leader of Camp Jaha, and while he hadn’t looked happy about them digging up a grave and setting a body on fire, he’d agreed once she’d explained the significance of the ritual, even supplied a bottle of moonshine to serve as the accelerant.

When the digging is done, they gently place Anya’s shroud-wrapped corpse on the pyre Rivo and Johan built and douse the pile of sticks and logs with the moonshine.

As a heda’s daughter and member of Lexa’s entourage, Clarke technically has the seniority, but Rivo was of Anya’s village. She hands him the torch.

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” he says and touches the torch to the pyre. 

They watch until the flames die out and then Clarke hands Rivo a small clay jar. His expression remains impassive, but she sees the gratitude in his eyes as he scoops ashes into the jar and tightly seals the lid.

Johan watches her closely, like he’s waiting for her to make a mistake, but she doesn’t let him get her best of her. She looks him steadily in the eyes. “Os sheidgeda. Ai op yu won soncha.” _Goodnight. I will see you in the morning._

Her return to the camp is different than her arrival. There are still Skaikru out and about, particularly at the cluster of tables and chairs by the Go-Sci station, and some even call out a hello as she walks to Bellamy’s tent. It’s just as they left it, with the blankets still kicked to the bottom of the makeshift mattress, and Clarke finds something comforting about the lived in look of the tent. It feels familiar, like it’s hers – like it’s _theirs_.

She feels rested when she wakes the next morning and starts her day. With the exception of eating dinner with Jackson and having no bodies to bury, it’s nearly identical to her previous day. People are more at ease though, and while her line is only half the length of Jackson’s, it’s twice as long as the day before.

There’s noise at the gate late that night and Clarke quickly dresses and hurries to the fence. The lights are extra bright, like the night Anya died, illuminating a cluster of Ark guards and a group of ragged arrivals. She sees Wick and Lieutenant Miller and then her mom, but the face she truly wants to see isn’t there.

Clarke lets her mom hug her and kiss her forehead, but then she can’t hold it in any longer. “Where are Bellamy and Octavia?”

Abby sighs. “Let’s talk about it inside.” 

“Where are they?” Clarke demands the moment they’re in the chancellor’s quarters.

Abby crosses her arms and raises her chin, the same trick Clarke uses when she wants to get a point across. “Why don’t you tell me? They disappeared within ten minutes of arriving at the mountain.”

Clarke stubbornly raises her own chin. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“I’m the Chancellor – everyone in this camp is my responsibility and now two people are missing.”

“No, not missing. They’ll be back when they find what they’re looking for.” Clarke refuses to believe anything else. Bellamy is strong, but he’s also smart. He’ll find an entrance to the mines and safely bring Octavia home. 

Abby looks exhausted, thin lines extending from her mouth and eyes. “I understand that you want to find your people, but it can’t happen at the expense of someone’s life. If you have an idea, run it through the Council. That’s how things work in this camp. You might be my daughter, but you’re also our guest. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Clarke,” Abby sighs. “I don’t want to fight. We lost two soldiers on the mission and Thelonius is back and talking war. I can’t do this right now.”

“You said Thelonius is dead.” If Wells’ dad didn’t survive the crash, Clarke doesn’t understand how he suddenly returned to his people.

“Apparently not. He rode one of our nukes to the ground and showed up in our camp this morning raving about something called the City of Light.” 

Clarke blinks in surprise. The City of Light is a myth, a whisper that drifts through the trimani. No Skaikru should know of its existence when most Trikru don’t believe that it’s real. “I want to speak to him.”

“In the morning,” Abby says tiredly and rolls her shoulders back. Clarke feels guilty for pressing so hard. Her mom hiked to Mount Weather and back in less than two days, and likely ate and slept little. She hasn’t changed her mind about the importance of Bellamy’s mission, but her mom deserves rest. 

“In the morning,” Clarke agrees and starts towards the door. 

“Will you stay tonight?” Abby’s face shows no emotion, but her voice is small and Clarke can see the hope in her eyes. It’s like looking at Octavia that first night at the dropship camp, and Clarke couldn’t say no then either.

“Sure,” she says and takes off her jacket, drapes it over a chair. She kicks off her boots and slides out of her pants and climbs into the narrow bed. It has a real mattress and pillows, but she still prefers Bellamy’s tiny tent. This cold little room feels like a place to sleep and no more. 

The bed shifts as Abby climbs in next to her, and her mom lies still as a statue on the other side of the mattress. A heavy silence surrounds them, threatens to crush them under its weight. Clarke knows she’s partially responsible. She told Bellamy to sneak away; she told him to disobey her mom’s orders. Indra would have done far more than issue a harsh warning. She shivers, a phantom whip gouging deep lacerations into her back – she’d be lucky to escape with her life. Her mom deserves an apology.

“I’m sorry I made things more difficult for you. How I grew up…I’m not used to standing still.”

Abby rolls over so they’re facing each other. “I need you to talk to me.” She gestures between them. “This is new for me too, but I’m trying. If you ask, I promise to listen.”

Clarke tucks her head under her mom’s chin, like she hasn’t done since she was five years old, and closes her eyes. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Abby sucks in a ragged breath, one arm slowly wrapping around Clarke’s waist. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She wakes before her mom and carefully crawls out of the bed before hurrying to the gate to speak with Rivo and Johan.

Rivo is asleep while Johan’s on watch, his pale blue eyes shifting slightly when he spots her in his peripheral vision.

“Os sintaim,” he says with a sigh incline of his head. 

“Os sintaim.” _Good morning_. She studies him for a moment – there’s something about the smirking tilt of his mouth that she doesn’t like. 

“Chit yu gof?” _What do you want?_

She crosses her arms and regards him coolly. “Chit ste yo ridiyo dula hir?” _Why are you really here?_

He shrugs and rolls a blade of grass between his fingers. “Ai chek au en sen in, seimon laik yu.” _I look and listen, same as you._ His smirk widens. “Taim em gaf in, heda na gaf en wor.” _If she wants it, the Commander will have her war_.

“Em bilaik.” _As she likes_. Clarke does her best to keep her expression neutral despite the concerns roiling through her mind: Lexa isn’t satisfied with the death ritual that was performed in tonDC. She still seeks revenge for the eighteen Trikru that were slaughtered, and she won’t stop searching until she finds a casus belli. Clarke glances at the armed guards watching them vigilantly. She might be making inroads with the Skaikru, but not Rivo and Johan. It won’t take much to give Lexa what she’s looking for.

She starts with Thelonius Jaha, the chancellor thought dead but resurrected by the hope of the City of Light. She needs to find out where he learned of the Trikru legend.

Wells’ father shares his son’s eyes and skin color, but the shape of his face is different, highlighted by the brilliant white of his beard. He talks with his hands but the movements are too big, uncontrolled, and there’s a wildness in his eyes that Clarke finds unsettling. She’s seen that look before – she saw it in Finn right before she put a bullet in his heart. 

“My son, is he alive?” 

Clarke smiles from across the table, hoping to build a connection with Jaha through Wells. It might be the only way to convince him to share his secrets. “He was when I left him in Mount Weather.” 

“We’re working on getting the kids out,” Abby jumps in before Jaha can ask for clarification. “Let’s focus on your time with the Grounders.”

“Tell us what happened after you landed,” Clarke adds.

“I landed in a vast desert called the Dead Zone –” 

“I’m familiar with the Dead Zone. What happened next?”

He smiles fondly. “Yes, you would know. It’s a miracle that you’re here.” 

“We can talk about that later. How did you get out of the desert?” 

“A family of nomads took me in. They fed me, bandaged my wounds, and sold me to a group of men on horseback.” He sheepishly shrugs his shoulders. “They needed a horse to save their child. I can’t fault them for that.”

“Sankru,” Clarke mumbles. _Desert thieves_. She’s never met them, but knows the stories, the desperate things they do to survive in a world that consists of little else but sand. An injured Skaikru would have yielded a high bounty, especially for a vengeful heda. “They sold you to the Grounders.”

He nods. “Your commander is a wise leader. She sent me here with a message.”

Abby sighs. “He wouldn’t tell us anything until he spoke to you.”

Clarke settles back in her chair. “What’s the message?”

Jaha leans forward, that strange light shining again in his eyes. “War is coming.”

“No!” Abby cries. She turns to Clarke. “You said they wouldn’t retaliate for what Finn did.”

“This isn’t about Finn,” Clarke says. “You landed in our territory, burned three hundred of our warriors to ash. Blood has been spilled that still requires blood in return.” 

“There’s a solution,” Jaha interjets. “The City of Light is a place of peace and acceptance. They will take anyone willing to make the journey.” 

Clarke scoffs. “Soncha Kapa is a myth.” She remembers Petr and his scarred back, the day his family left tonDC and was never heard from again. “No one that goes there ever comes back.”

A serene smile settles on his face. “I’m willing to try.” He turns to Abby. “It’s a new world, Abby. Let our people decide what’s best for themselves.”

“You can’t leave,” Clarke says urgently. “We need every available soldier to get our people out of Mount Weather.” She glares at Jaha. “Your son is still there.”

“And he will find me in the City of Light. If we stay, we all die. If we go, we give those kids something to come home to.”

She sticks to her vow, begs Abby to listen. “Mom, please!”

“The people have a right to know.” Abby looks sternly at Jaha. “But we’re not leaving yet. We tell them what’s going on and make preparations, but no one leaves this camp until war is a certainty.”

Clarke doesn’t like it, but she can’t argue with it either. It’s a good plan given the sheer number of Skaikru and limited resources, but she can do more, starting with finding Bellamy. She never swore to stay in camp; she isn’t breaking any promises by leaving. She quickly packs her bag while Abby and Jaha gather the camp together, moves to the edge of the crowd and waits for the right moment to slip away.

Jaha has a good speaking voice, deep and melodious, and his people are listening. “The time has come for each and everyone of us to ask, is this how the story of our people ends? Did we come all this way just to die tomorrow? Because if we’re not gone by the time that sun rises, that’s exactly what will happen!”

Abby looks resigned as she takes the stage next to him. “No decision’s been made. In the mean time, please report to your station supervisor and gather emergency supplies.”

It’s as good a time as any to leave, but strong fingers grasp Clarke’s elbow before she can make her move. She recognizes the steadiness in that grip and smiles widely, spins in place to find herself looking into Bellamy’s dark eyes. 

He grins. “I guess someone missed me.”

She kisses him, a quick kiss because time is precious, then pulls back to study his face. He’s dirty, but unharmed, and she kisses him again because she’s so relieved. “Where have you been?”

He sounds anxious as he takes note of the assembled guards. “At the dropship. You need to come with me right now.”

“Wait, what’s happened?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” He glances at her pack. “Do you have a med kit in there?” She nods. “Let’s go.”

They sneak through Raven’s Gate and trek to the dropship in one long slog. She follows Bellamy up the ladder to the third level, where he tortured Lincoln just a few weeks earlier, and she’s dimly aware that Bellamy’s talking to her because all she sees is Lincoln and the bright red seatbelts restraining his arms and legs.

“I can’t believe we’re back here again,” she whispers. Bellamy splays a comforting hand against her spine.

From where she’s sitting with her back to the wall, Octavia raises tear-filled eyes. “Can you help him?”

Clarke takes a step closer, flinches when Lincoln roars at her like the _monster_ that he’s become. “I don’t know,” she says softly, raises her chin and meets Lincoln’s deranged gaze. “But I’m going to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for no Lexa in this chapter. That was the plan, but then the length ran away with itself, so next chapter, I promise. Also, I found [ this amazing Trigedasleng dictionary](https://sites.google.com/site/trigedaslengdictionary/home) with terrific translations so I’ll be going through the entire fic and replacing some of the Trigedasleng dialogue. Just a head’s up in case you notice any changes. Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.


	12. The Path of the Righteous: Part VI

There’s a story the Trikru tell each other, about the jewels they find buried beneath the twisted roots of great pines. Clarke spotted one the year she turns six, on a walk with Kolya in the weak winter sunshine, a glint of warm gold on an otherwise gray day. The soil was dark and damp but the jewel glowed, glowed from the inside out, and even though Kolya wouldn’t stop complaining about the cold, Clarke found herself drawn to it. Her nomon had one that she wore on a cord around her neck, a small jewel carved into the shape of a hammer, but Clarke didn’t reach for it because it was as bright as the sunbut because of the creature trapped within. 

Four wings and six legs, large eyes that seemed to stare at her through the jewel’s golden glow. It was warm to the touch despite the freezing temperature around them. She felt a kinship with it, this creature that was also trapped by circumstances beyond its choosing.

Behind her, Kolya had gasped, his breath crystalizing in the frigid air. “Keryon graun-diyo,” he’d whispered. _Soul stone_.

Her knowledge of Trigedasleng had still been limited then, and she hadn’t understood his words. “Chit?” _What?_

“Em keryon,” he’d whispered. “Em bilaik raun yu.” _Its soul is part of you_.

“Ai nau get in.” _I don’t understand_.

Kolya had sighed, finally switching to English. “When an animal is trapped in the amber, it leaves a piece of its soul inside.” He’d looked at Clarke. “When you touched it, it took a piece of you too.” “Osir na gaf in shil op em.” _We need to keep it safe.”_

Together they’d dug a hole and buried it in the shadow of the tree’s barren branches, buried it deep beneath layers of soil and leaves and broken sticks. 

Kolya had patted her dirty hand. “Nau yu keryon ste klir. Yu ste klir.” _Now, your soul is safe – you are safe._ He had been meticulous about smoothing down the dirt to hide the cache. If anyone found the stone, they would have a piece of her soul too – they could make her do things she didn’t want to do.

Clarke’s reminded of that winter’s day as she meets Lincoln’s unfocused stare. The whites of his eyes are streaked with broken blood vessels, but she thinks she sees something more in the golden-brown of his irises. She looks into Lincoln’s eyes and for a second she sees him, her bro kom tombon – _brother of her heart_ – sees the gentle _keryon_ that has been her dearest friend since the day they met. The Lincoln she loves is trapped inside what the Maunon made him, like the dragonfly in the amber, but this time she can set it free. 

Lincoln growls when she approaches and strains against his bindings, teeth bared as he lunges at her. Clarke swallows down her fear. No matter how far away he seems, the Lincoln she knows is in there somewhere. She just has to find him.

“What happened to his leg?” He’s favoring his right side and even in the dim light, his pants leg is dark with blood.

Octavia looks away. “I shot him.”

Bellamy quickly jumps to her defense. “It was the only way to subdue him.” 

Clarke doesn’t comment. She knows how much Octavia loves Lincoln, knows she wouldn’t do anything to harm him unless absolutely necessary. She bites her lip as she continues to study him, wanting a better look but unwilling to risk her own safety. There’s something about his neck that’s bothering her, but she can’t get close enough without the risk of his teeth chomping into her throat. 

“This might help.” Bellamy holds up an electronic lasher. “It will buy you some time to examine him.”

Clarke looks to Octavia for permission. She remembers the last time they were in this place, the smell of blood in the air and the echoing thwack of the belt flaying open Lincoln’s chest. She remembers feeling like she took each blow herself. It will be the same for Octavia if they agree to Bellamy’s plan and she wants her friend to be prepared. 

“Okay,” Octavia says. She lifts her chin and blinks the tears from her eyes. “Do it.”

Bellamy squeezes his sister’s shoulder then walks towards Lincoln, the lasher’s tip glowing a soft blue. He takes a breath and Clarke watches the pull of muscle in his shoulders as he sucks in the air and releases it, sends a hissing jolt of electricity into Lincoln’s chest. He slumps back, head sagging as he hangs loosely from the knotted seatbelts. Bellamy pokes him with the inactive lasher. Lincoln doesn’t react.

“He should be out for a good thirty minutes.” Bellamy puts down the lasher and motions for Octavia to come over. “Let’s get started.”

They lay Lincoln on the ground and latch the seatbelts to bolts in the floor. Octavia wants to put his head in her lap, but a stern look from Bellamy has her doing otherwise, and she tucks a blanket under his head instead. It’s bright orange, from the bunker where Bellamy laid himself bare, and it gives Clarke a bit of encouragement. If she could make something good out of that terrible day, she can do the same here.

She quickly cleans and bandages Lincoln’s leg then studies her friend, searches for the man she knows is trapped inside. Despite the cuts and bruises covering his body, in sleep he almost looks like the Lincoln she knows. “How long has he been like this?”

The Blake siblings exchange a look. “At least three days,” Bellamy says while Octavia worries her bottom lip. “It’s only gotten worse since we found him.”

Clarke gestures at Bellamy to hold the lamp closer and after a moment’s hesitation he obeys, crouches down on Lincoln’s right side while she kneels on his left. “Can you describe his symptoms to me?”

Bellamy frowns. “You’ve seen the Reapers – you know what he was like.”

Octavia braves her brother’s wrath to brush her fingers over Lincoln’s forehead. “But then it wore off. He’s sweaty and feverish and won’t stop shaking. He threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach.”

Clarke searches for clues to unlocking what’s wrong with Lincoln. They’re familiar, the things Octavia described, but just beyond her reach. She lays a hand on Lincoln’s forehead. His skin is damp and the fever is strong, but it’s the strange mark on his neck that catches her attention. It’s dark and pulsing, spreading like a spider down his throat from a deep puncture wound. She’s trying to determine the source of the wound when it clicks, the shakes and the fever and the white film coating his lips.

Once a gona named Dima came back from a clash with the Azgeda with an arrow embedded deep in the flesh of his knee. Nyko cleaned it well and sewed the wound, but the pain persisted, made it hard for Dima to walk or wield his spear. Nyko gave him laudanum to ease the ache, just until he learned to live with the pain, but Dima took more than he needed. The laudanum went missing and there was a different kind of glazed look in Dima’s eyes, until Nyko tied him to a bed while the gona shook and sweat with fever until his system was clean. But while he was free of the laudanum’s effects, Dima was still a slave to his addiction and they couldn’t trust him to stay in tonDC, to keep away from the medicine, not to steal or kill for just another drop. Soon after, Indra sent him to the western Trikru where there were only herbs for treating disease. It was years before Dima came home for a short visit, unable to remain in a place that sheltered his demons. Nyko has used the laudanum sparingly since.

Clarke doesn’t know what drug Lincoln craves, but she recognizes the symptoms well. “I’ve seen this before. He’s in withdrawal.” 

“Withdrawal from what?” Bellamy asks.

“I don’t know.” She points to the puncture wound. “But it explains his symptoms and maybe even his behavior. It’s the drug that made him a Reaper.”

Octavia’s eyes are filled with hope. “So you _can_ fix him.”

When Dima writhed in agony in Nyko’s hut, they had what was necessary to ease his pain, gradually weaning him off the laudanum. Clarke doesn’t know what drug Lincoln craves and she doesn’t have the tools to ease his agony. She doesn’t know if he’ll survive being cut off completely and without warning. 

She tries not to let her concern show as she meets Octavia’s gaze. “I don’t know.” 

“But you’ve done this before!”

“It was different then. I knew – ”

“What do you need?” Bellamy interrupts. 

“Keep him comfortable and hydrated.” She lets Bellamy help her to her feet, then turns to Octavia and looks her square in the eye. “I can’t make any promises.”

Octavia nods briskly, her fierce expression at odds with the fear in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Clarke glances at their slumbering patient. “We wait.”

They wait through the morning and into the afternoon, until the early evening darkness signals the late hour. Lincoln wakes and pulls at his restraints, pale foam leaking from his mouth. Octavia talks to him in a soft, even voice, random stories about her life on the Ark, but the steadiness in her tone seems to calm him. Or maybe it’s Octavia herself. He seems more like his old self whenever she’s near. 

The sun has just slipped from the sky when Clarke shrugs on her pack and pulls Bellamy aside. “I need to go.”

He glances at his sister, sitting a careful distance from Lincoln and humming a sweet tune as she repairs a rip in his shirt. According to Bellamy, it’s a skill they learned from their mother, a habit Octavia embraces when she needs a distraction from the real world. Clarke follows his gaze. Octavia has been strong, a calm, steady presence, but Clarke knows she can only hang on for so long. She wishes she could be there for her. 

“We need you here. What if something goes wrong? You’re the only one that knows what to do.”

“I can’t,” she says, lets him hear the regret in her voice. “My mom is going to be furious when she realizes that I’ve been gone all day.” 

“It’s after dark.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I know these woods better than you. I’ll be fine.”

Bellamy sighs and tugs her towards him, rests his hands against the small of her back. “Until tomorrow.”

She pushes to her tiptoes and kisses him. “Mebi oso na hit chot op nodataim.” He looks at her curiously. “May we meet again,” she says and kisses him again.

“Mebi oso na hit chot op nodataim,” he repeats and she smiles up at him, confident in their reunion the next day.

There’s no lecture waiting when she returns to camp, or at least none from her mom. Johan and Rivo are furious that she left without informing them, but she hesitates in telling them about Lincoln. If he dies at the dropship, the blame could easily fall on the Skaikru and give Lexa the casus belli she’s been searching for. 

“Ai don kom ai houmon,” she says. 

Johan grins suggestively, but Rivo’s reaction is more serious. “We are here to protect you. Should anything go wrong, we will be held responsible.”

“I understand,” she says because she _does_ understand their concerns – it’s the same reason she keeps Lincoln’s struggle a secret – but it doesn’t mean she’ll put them first. They’ll survive any punishment Lexa forces on them, but she won’t be the reason the Skaikru go to war. 

Rivo reluctantly lets her pass to the gate and she stops by the med-bay to gather supplies for her return trip in the morning.

Jackson finds her by the supply closet and fixes her with a hard stare. “I covered for you today. If your mom asks, you were doing inventory in here.”

Clarke smiles gratefully. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

He looks at the bandages and antiseptic that she’s holding. “I said you were _taking_ inventory, not stealing it.” 

She hesitates, unsure if she wants to let Jackson in on her secret, but he did lie for her today, even though he barely knows her and doesn’t owe her anything. There are worse things than her mom finding out about Lincoln; if anything, they could use her help. “Bellamy and Octavia found a Trigedakru friend of mine. The Mountain Men got him addicted to something and he’s in withdrawal. I’m helping him through it.” She pleads with Jackson to understand. “You can’t tell anyone. If he dies and my commander finds out, she’ll start a war. You won’t win.”

Jackson stares a moment, then reaches behind her. “You’ll need this too” He adds a bag of saline and a length of tubing to the pile in her arms. “Dehydration is a major concern.” He looks at her curiously. “Have you ever started an IV?” She shakes her head and he smiles kindly. “Let’s get you ready.”

He shows her how to hook up the bag to the tubing, to find a vein and insert the needle so she doesn’t cause an air bubble. Clarke soaks up the information and tucks it away. With some trial and error, she and Nyko can probably create a similar technology for the Trikru. 

After, she stops by her mom’s quarters to say goodnight. Abby looks exhausted and distracted, but she still has a smile for her daughter. 

“How was your day?” she asks and tucks a lock of hair behind Clarke’s ear. 

“Uneventful,” Clarke says, chest tightening around the lie. It’s getting harder, lying to her mother, when Abby’s been increasingly honest with her. “How was yours?”

Her mom sighs, the weak light drawing attention to the dark circles under her eyes. “Jaha is trying to curry favor with the citizens. More and more of them are supporting his asinine plan to find the City of Light.”

Clarke wouldn’t wish a journey through the Dead Zone against her worst enemy but it’s a good distraction from the lies she keeps telling. So long as her mom’s attention is on Jaha, she isn’t tracking Clarke’s comings and goings. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Abby smiles wearily and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

She does sleep sweet, wrapped in the warmth of blankets that smell of Bellamy and feeling rested and determined when she wakes with the sun. She double checks her pack then slips into the cool dawn, her footsteps silent as she creeps through the slumbering camp. She scratches at a tent flap beside the engineering shed and waits until Wick emerges, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Again?”

“Last time, I swear.” 

“Promises, promises,” Wick scoffs with a shake of his head, but doesn’t hesitate in tugging on his boots. Clarke follows him into engineering, watches while he turns on a computer and types something into the keyboard. “You have five minutes.” 

She clears the gate in less than three, adjusts her pack and slips into the woods. Almost immediately, she can tell that something’s wrong. There’s a feeling in the air, catching in her hair and brushing over her skin – the world is not right. She doesn’t stop walking though. She’s Trikru, trained personally by Indra’s hand, and she isn’t stopping because of a feeling. She can handle whatever threat comes her way.

It comes soon enough, a branch snapping under an interloper’s foot. She bends down as if to tie her boot and slides her knife into the sleeve of her jacket so the hilt presses into her inner arm and she can feel the bite of the blade against her wrist. Slowly, she rises to her feet to confront her attackers. 

They’re two Skaikru men with hatred in their eyes. One holds a knife and the other an ax and both seem inclined to use them on her. She slowly raises her hands and pastes on her most innocent smile. The more they underestimate her, the better her chances, so she pretends they’re a team her mom sent to drag her home.

“If you’ve come to take me back to Camp Jaha, I’m not going.”

The men exchange a look and laugh, hard and ugly, fingers tightening on the hilts of their weapons. “The last place you’ll be going is the Ark. 

Clarke fights to keep her smile from falling. “There’s no need for violence. I’ll come willingly.” 

“We’re not here on official business.” The man’s fingers tighten around the handle of his ax. “This is personal.”

Carefully, she takes a step back. “I don’t know you.”

The man with the knife steps forward. “But we know you.” He tests the blade’s weight in his hand. “On the Ark, every crime is a capital crime. My wife was floated because she stole extra rations for the orphanage. You killed a kid and here you are.”

Clarke sucks in a breath at his mention of Finn, but doesn’t lose her grip on her weapon. “My son died because of your people,” the man with the ax sneers. “We found him at the dropship, nailed to a tree. He didn’t ask to come here and you slaughtered him like an animal. Yet here you are.” 

“I’m sorry for your losses. I never wanted anyone to die.” Both men are advancing on her, but the ax worries her more. Its owner’s arms are thick and beefy; he has the strength required for the blade to hit its mark. She needs to keep them talking until she can figure out how to escape.

“Then you’re going to be disappointed.” He raises the ax. “Today, the killing starts with you.”

There’s a noise from beyond the men, the sharp click of rifle’s safety turning off, and then Murphy’s stepping from the woods, his gun trained on the men’s backs. “If you want to live, put down your weapons.”

The men stare at him. “Traitor,” the man with the knife hisses, but Murphy just shrugs, fingers steady on the trigger.

“Maybe, but you’re no better.” He raises the rifle a little higher. “I won’t ask again: put down your weapons.”

Slowly, the men put their weapons on the ground and Clarke kicks the legs out from the man with the ax. She pulls a length of rope from her pack and expertly ties his hands. Murphy keeps his rifle trained on the man with the knife while she ties him up too. She pushes both men to sitting positions, the knife’s blade still poking the flesh of her wrist. She’s glad to have it there, but thankful she didn’t have to use it. Disgusting as these men are, she doesn’t want to kill anyone.

Murphy looks to her. “What do you want to do with them?”

Trikru justice is swift and merciless and bringing bloodied, mangled corpses through Camp Jaha’s gate will start a war, the one thing Clarke has been trying to avoid. She has no choice but to let them remain whole. 

She tugs them to their feet and shoves them in the direction of the camp. “The Chancellor will decide.”

The walk is short and silent but for an occasional grunt when Murphy pokes one of the men with his rifle to get him moving faster. Clarke prepares to reenter the camp. Raven’s Gate isn’t an option, not without advance warning, and her plan was always to return through the main gate. 

Rivo perks up as she approaches, his shrewd, sharp gaze locking on the prisoners. He takes in their bound hands and furious expressions, the extra knife and ax tucked into Murphy’s belt. “Natronas!” he hisses.

“I’m fine,” she insists, gestures down her body to show that she’s unharmed. He doesn’t look convinced, hands balling into fists at his sides. He reaches for his weapon as Murphy leads the prisoners to the Guard.

Johan joins them, all hints of amusement gone from his face. “Yu laik Leksakru,” he says. “Emo souda gon emo gyon au gon.” _They must pay for their betrayal._

“It was a misunderstanding,” she insists. “The Skaikru will punish them.”

He shakes his head and Rivo stands firm at his side, the first time the men have truly seen eye to eye. “Blood must have blood,” he says and Rivo echoes the sentiment, his voice thick with anger. “Ai na tel op heda.” He looks at Rivo. “Yu na em ship op.” _I will inform the Commander. You will keep her safe._

“No laksen na kom au em,” Rivo says, like she can’t defend herself, like she isn’t even there to voice her own opinion. _No harm will come to her._

She tugs on Johan’s arm as he moves towards his horse. “Disha na stot au wor.” _This will start a war._

His eyes are bright with excitement. “Emo don trana frag yu op, fisa. Emo souda gada in oso zog raun nodotaim.” _They tried to kill you, healer. We must have our vengeance._

Clarke wants to scream as he climbs atop his horse and kicks at his mount until all that’s left is a cloud of dust. She’s literally watching her hard work ride away and there’s nothing she can do about it.

David Miller comes over. “The prisoners are secured. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Clarke nods absently, too focused on watching the last bits of dust fade into the fall sunshine. “Get your camp ready. The Commander just got her war.”

The Chancellor is stone-faced while David Miller delivers his report, but the nervous twitch of her left knee betrays her outward calm. Rivo’s presence doesn’t help either. He’d insisted on following Clarke into the meeting room, his knife openly strapped to his thigh. 

Abby turns to her daughter when the Lieutenant finishes, eyes flashing with annoyance. “You weren’t supposed to leave camp without permission.”

“That’s what you’re going to focus on?”

“We made a deal!”

They face each other, chests heaving slightly, both believing they were right and unwilling to back down. 

“We need to leave now,” Lieutenant Miller says to Abby. “The people are ready. They just need your go-ahead.”

Byrne disagrees. “Where would we go? The City of Light?”

Another guard laughs and makes a joke about Jaha. More voices break in, all sharing opinions that don’t matter in the least. War is upon them no matter how they proceed.

“It’s too late,” Clarke says softly, but something in her tone causes the room to fall silent. “A rider already left for the Commander’s camp. You have no choice but to fight for your lives.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong!” Clarke thinks the man’s name is Denby, one of the guards that originally left with Chancellor Kane. 

Rivo steps forward, his jaw tight with anger. “Two Skaikru tried to kill Klark – ”

“They acted alone – ” Denby interjects, but Rivo has no patience for his excuses.

“She is daughter of a village leader, in service to our Commander. Your debt must be paid in blood.”

Abby turns to her daughter. “Honey, what can we do?”

Slowly, Clarke meets her mom’s worried gaze. “Pray.”

The shouting erupts again, with David Miller arguing to leave and Byrne and Denby arguing to stay. Clarke grabs Rivo’s arm and pulls him into the shadow of what used to be Mecha Station.

“Ai nou gaf in wor.” _I don’t want a war._

Rivo is unmoved by her pleas. “Emo don trana raunon kom Hedakru. Em bailaik emo lan op java don heda em.” _They threatened a member of the Commander’s kru. It is as if they raised a spear to the Commander herself._

“Our focus needs to be on getting our people out of Mount Weather. We need each other to do that!”

A hint of sympathy flashes in Rivo’s eyes and he even switches to English to respond. “We both know the choice isn’t up to you.”

Clarke stomps away, unsure of where she’s going until she spots Murphy sitting alone at in the eating area. Rivo lets her go but stands guard a few yards away.

Murphy sips from a dented metal flask that he offers when she slumps into the chair opposite his. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She glares at him even as she takes a deep pull of his drink. It’s moonshine, like she’d anticipated, and it burns all the way down. She coughs and sputters, but still takes another sip. “Brave, Princess,” Murphy says with a laugh.

“Don’t call me that.”

He shrugs and takes back the flask. “I slayed dragons for you, didn’t I?” 

She regards him critically, sees through the indifferent expression that he wears. Even his cruel beauty can’t distract from the pain she sees in his eyes. It’s sadness and desperation, a need to belong. She remembers feeling the same way when she first landed on earth.

“Why were you there?” She keeps her voice soft and gentle, tries a different tactic than accusations. He did come to her aid just a few hours ago.

He plays with the lid of the flask. “Didn’t like the looks of those guys.”

“So you chose to follow them?” 

He shrugs again. “Bellamy asked me to keep an eye on you.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at Bellamy’s predictability, focuses instead on Murphy’s dedication to his task. She’d left camp when the light was only creeping through the sky – it would have required staying up all night for Murphy to catch her wouldbe assassins at work.

“Maybe,” she says. “But he didn’t ask you to risk your life to protect mine.” She looks kicks him lightly under the table so he’ll finally look at her. “Why did you help me?”

Murphy pauses a moment, still playing with the flask, the pushes it aside and pulls up his shirt to expose the jagged scar running across his stomach. “You saved my life. It was only fair that I save yours.”

Clarke leans in closer to examine the scar, the memories of the battle flashing through her mind. She’d been so angry at Anya for keeping her behind the lines. She remembers the force she’d used to slap the bandage on Murphy’s wound. 

Now that she has his attention he doesn’t look away, lets her see the yearning in his eyes. She remembers a scared little girl cowering behind Indra her first day on the ground. She got to start over; Murphy should to.

“Thank you,” she says and sticks out a hand, the way she’s seen the Skaikru do so many times, and patiently waits for Murphy to shake it. His grip is stronger than she expected but firm – committed – and when they lower their hands some of the sadness is gone from his eyes.

He insists on walking her back to Bellamy’s tent, ignoring Rivo on her other side, and gives her a sympathetic look when they find Abby pacing the length of the small space. 

Abby throws her arms around her daughter the moment they’re alone and runs her hands through Clarke’s hair, along her cheeks, anywhere she thinks her daughter might be hurt. 

“I’m fine, Mom. Really.” 

Abby pulls back but continues to study her. “You promised.” 

“I didn’t have a choice! Someone I love needed help and I couldn’t bring him here. Not Bellamy,” she adds when she sees Abby’s concerned look. “My bro kom tombon.” She tells Abby what she found at the dropship. “He’s a Reaper, one of the Mountain’s monsters, but only because they made him one. He’s withdrawing from some kind of drug and when it’s out of his system, I think I can get him back. I was bringing saline and bandages to him when those men found me.” She represses a shudder from thinking of what would have happened if Murphy hadn’t shown up. There would have been so much more blood on her hands.

“When this is over, I’ll see what I can do for your friend.” Abby sighs heavily. “In the mean time…there has to be something we can offer, an agreement we can make…” she trails off when Clarke shakes her head. “Your mother is a leader of your people. You must have sway with her…” she trails off again.

Clarke searches for the right words to describe Indra. “My nomon loves me,” she finally says. “But she is Trikru more than she is anything else and she will want justice for the attempt on my life.” She sighs. “The Commander, I’m part of her personal entourage. She will not take this lightly either.”

“So we go to war.” Abby’s voice is resigned, her expression defeated. 

Clarke’s voice is equally resigned. “We go to war.”

 

* * *

 

The afternoon passes achingly slow. Clarke feels like she can’t catch her breath because she knows what’s coming, listens for the clomp of horse hooves in the dirt and a war horn piercing the quiet. She steps out of the med-bay to get some air and swears she sees the first flickering torch. The wide valley beneath the camp will be filled with Trikru by the time night falls. 

Some patients are still wary, but most are used to her presence in the med-bay, even sympathetic given her ordeal that morning, and she has a steady line of miserable looking cold sufferers at her station. 

The Skaikru have quickly succumbed to both weather and germs, and Jackson’s worried about their compromised immune systems. “We all grew up breathing sterile, processed air. No one has the antibodies to fight whatever’s down here.” 

Much of the camp is suffering from their first cold and while there’s not much Clarke can do to cure their illnesses, she tries to make them more comfortable, distributing cup upon cup of chamomile tea laced with garlic and ginger. It doesn’t taste great but there isn’t enough time to make tinctures and her patients just want relief. Most swallow down the foul tasting tea without complaint.

Her pot is almost empty when noise erupts from the yard, and even through the din of people in the med-bay, she clearly identifies the angry voice. 

Bellamy’s fury rivals Raven’s rage. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he roars and then there’s a loud crack, something heavy and solid colliding with his head. By the time she makes it outside, he’s collapsed in the dirt just outside the brig.

“What happened?”

Byrne rubs her sore jaw. “He attempted to attack the prisoners. We were forced to subdue him.”

Clarke shoots her a dubious look and kneels at Bellamy’s side to check his head wound. Nothing is broken and he likely won’t have a concussion, but there’s a nasty bruise forming on his temple and blood trickling from a nasty looking cut. 

“Take him to the brig,” Byrne orders and Clarke doesn’t protest as two guards drag Bellamy away. She can deal with his idiocy after she sews him back together. She gathers needle and thread from the med-bay and hurries after the guards. 

Bellamy comes to just when Abby storms through the door, his head in Clarke’s lap while she strokes the hair from his brow, waiting for him to wake before dressing the wound. Maybe having a needle only an inch from his eye will make him think twice about playing the hero for a girl that didn’t need saving.

He blinks at the Chancellor as Clarke helps him sit up. “They tried to kill – ”

“I know what they tried to do!” Abby’s face is red, her chest heaving. She sucks in a breath to regain her composure, her voice calmer when she speaks again. “We have rules here, systems in place to maintain order. You can’t take the law into your own hands.”

Shakily, Bellamy pushes to his feet. Blood still seeps from his head but he looks determined as he faces his Chancellor. “I heard what happened and I…” he breaks off, looks away as he swallows hard. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

Abby continues to study him, her gaze critical as she takes in his damaged face. “I was wrong about you once. Don’t prove me right.” 

He smiles sheepishly after Abby leaves. “Lay it on me.”

She helps him to a chair and preps the procedure, sterilizing the wound and ignoring his pained hiss from the alcohol. “I don’t need rescuing.”

His cheeks flush a dark red. “Someone tried to kill you.” 

“And you attacked the Guard when we’re on the brink of war! It’s over – we need to think to the future.”

Bellamy is quiet as she finishes the last of the stitches and covers the wound with a bandage. “For so long, the only person I cared about was Octavia, keeping her fed and clothed…” His voice drops to a whisper. “Keeping her _safe_. But now you matter in the same way. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t show up at the dropship but an attempt on your life? That was more than I could take.”

The last of Clarke’s frustration fades away. She remembers what it was like when she thought he was dead, the pressure in her chest, feeling like their life together had ended before it had the chance to begin. She can’t blame him for feeling the same way. 

She slides into his lap and cups his cheek in her hand, sucks in a breath when he turns his head and presses a kiss to her palm. “You know how important you are to me.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, so confident he is in her answer, and she understands implicitly, how much she can feel for someone she’s only just met. 

“I know,” she says softly and leans in to kiss him. “But next time, let’s talk about it, okay? I need you with me in this.”

He drops his forehead so it rests against hers. “I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“That might be sooner than later. The Trikru know about what happened. Their army approaches as we speak.”

“I figured as much. What can we do?”

“Lexa has been looking to start a war since your ship came to the ground. Now she has a reason.”

“Lexa?”

“The Heda – Commander. I know her well.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows lift. “How well?”

Clarke swats at him. “Not like that. I’m her resident healer and part of her inner circle. I might be able to get through to her.”

“Enough to stop a war?”

She shivers in the cradle of Bellamy’s arms. “Even I don’t have that kind of power.”

“Whatever happens, you have me.”

“That’s more than enough.” He moves in for a kiss and she lets him for half a second before she pulls back, ignores his disappointed groan. “But if you ever send Murphy to creep up on me in the woods again, you won’t get anymore of the good stuff.”

He laughs, that deep, rumbling laugh that she loves, and she buries her smile in the crook of his neck. She cherishes that laugh, the joy in his voice. War is coming – she might never hear it again.

 

* * *

 

The sun is just setting when the Trikru army arrives and it’s an impressive sight, torches and tents for as far as the eye can see, and even if they can’t be seen, Clarke knows there are scouts trekking silently through the woods, watching the Skaikru’s every move through their wire fence. She stands behind that fence with Bellamy and her mother, trying and failing to add up the number of tents. 

“We should send a dignitary,” Abby says. “Should it be me? Byrne? Who would be best?”

Clarke steps forward. “I’ll go.”

Bellamy grasps her arm. “I’ll go with you.”

She wants nothing more than to greet her people with her houmon at her side, but now isn’t the time. She can already see Lexa’s disgust that a member of her entourage would take a chance on love. 

“I need to do this alone.” 

“Clarke – ” Abby starts but she’s already striding towards the gate. Bellamy stays at his place by the fence, their earlier conversation bearing fruit. He’ll respect her wishes even if he wants to fight battles at her side.

Rivo escorts her from the camp and to the Trikru lines. Lukas, a gona from Anya’s village, glares as they approach the entrance. 

“Natrona,” he hisses and Clarke bites her lip to keep from lashing out. She’s so tired of being blamed for things beyond her control.

“Em laik ona heda shil op,” Rivo says in return. _She is under the Commander’s protection_. He casually rests his hand against the knife in his belt.

Lukas sneers at her. “Skaikru niron.” _Skaikru lover._

“Ai no laik natrona. Ai laik klirir.” _I’m not a traitor. I’m a peacemaker._ She crosses her arms over her chest and meets his hostile stare with one of her own.

Another voice cuts in. “Mounin, Klark kom Trigedakru.” 

She faces the scarred, bearded gona. “Heya, Gustus.” 

Lukas lowers his eyes and moves aside so she can pass into the camp. Gustus regards her critically. “You have come for the Commander?”

“Sha. Teik klir.” _To make peace._

Gustus says nothing but she catches the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way he purses his lips. He’s a loyal soldier, but he doesn’t like this plan. Clarke tries not to make anything of it as she strides towards Lexa’s tent.

Indra’s dark eyes soften in relief when she sees that Clarke is unharmed. “Ai nona. Ai laik hapo yu laik kik raun.” _My daughter. I’m glad you are well._ She even squeezes Clarke’s hand, the most affectionate Clarke’s ever seen her in public. She squeezes back to let Indra know that she’s okay. 

Lexa looks less enthused. “The Skaikru must pay for what they did.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Lexa, please. They want peace. Don’t punish an entire people because of the actions of a few.”

“What would you have me do? They made camp in our territory without permission. They burned three hundred warriors alive.” Lexa’s challenging stare pulses with fury. “I accepted your death ritual, Klark, one life in exchange for eighteen, and this is how they repay me? I cannot look past these crimes.” 

“We need them to get our people out of Mount Weather.” 

Rudi, another advisor, steps forward. “Anya is dead. We have only your word that there are Trikru in the Maunon.” 

Despite her best efforts to control it, her eyes narrow in annoyance. To be accused of lying is tantamount to being called a traitor and she’s already endured that today. She won’t let this insult stand. “I am no liar! Ai Klark kom _Trigedakru_. I want only peace, to have our people back.” She makes eye contact with Indra. “To get my brother back.”

“Yu bro stedaunon – ”

“I can prove it.” 

“How?” Lexa demands.

After he was released from the brig, Bellamy sent Murphy to fetch Lincoln and Octavia from the dropship. Lincoln’s symptoms worsened during the night and according to Octavia, at one point his heart stopped. They restarted it using the electronic lasher, a variation on something they’d seen in a film from before the cataclysm, but it worked because when Lincoln opened his eyes, they were warm and gold and clear.

“Welcome back,” Octavia said and Bellamy knew it was time to bring Lincoln home. They were still en route when she left, but Clarke has faith in her friend, and the woman that loves him, that she will see the Lincoln she knows when she returns.

“You will have to come to the Skaikru camp,” Clarke says and a loud racket fills the tent, everyone talking at once as they debate the merits of the proposal.

“Silence!” Lexa holds up her hand and signals for quiet. “Let Klark speak.”

“The Reapers – I know how to make them Trikru again.”

“More lies,” Gustus interrupts. “Every Reaper we have captured died within hours.” 

“You’re right,” Clarke concedes. Just last year she’d watched a gona named Gleb convulse on Nyko’s operating table. His hair had been long and corded, hiding any marks on his neck, but she vividly remembers his heart giving out. They’d had no way of helping him. Until now. “But the Skaikru have the tools to save our people. Lincoln kom Trigedakru’s heart stopped, yet he lives. And he is no longer a Reaper.” 

Or so she hopes. Until she sees for herself, there’s no way of knowing if Bellamy’s plan worked. 

Lexa’s forehead knots while she contemplates, ignoring the various generals and advisors arguing around her. “I will visit the Skaikru camp,” she finally says, again holds up a hand for quiet when the room erupts in dissent. “If what Klark says is true, I will consider peace. We have lost too many warriors to the Ripas. We will need them to bring down the Maunon.”

“And if Klark has told us lies?” Gustus’s expression is smug.

The Commander’s cool blue gaze locks on Clarke. “Then she is Klark kom _Skaikru_.” 

Gustus looks satisfied and Indra looks horrified and Clarke feels a strange combination of terror and relief, because no matter the outcome, it will be over. Trikru or Skaikru, it will be over. She always knew she’d have to make a choice. She never thought someone would make it for her.

 

* * *

 

They arrive at Camp Jaha and the choice still hangs over her head.

Lincoln is exhausted and bruised, but very much alive, the burn mark on his chest illustrating how hard Octavia fought to save him. She won’t leave his side, even when Lexa and her retinue crowd into the med-bay to see the former Reaper.

There had almost been an altercation at the gate when Clarke arrived with four armed gonas and a slip of a girl wearing war paint and carrying a sword, but Abby’s leadership had prevailed and she’d let them into the camp, weapons and all, so long as they didn’t try to slip their escorts. The med-bay is crowded with guards and guns and the patient sitting wearily in his bed.

Lexa waits while Corban, a healer from Anya’s village, examines Lincoln. No one from tonDC accompanied her to Camp Jaha, not even Indra. Only outsiders will determine Lincoln’s fate. 

Corban points to the puncture wound on Lincoln’s neck. “I saw this on Egan. It is the mark of a ripa.” 

“Yet his heart beats,” Lexa says, peering closely at the burn on Lincoln’s chest.

“My heart stopped but Octavia brought me back to life.” Lincoln’s voice is raspy and hoarse but steady. He takes Octavia’s hand and presses it to the burn over his heart. “Let her people save ours the way she saved me.”

“You can do the same for the others?” Lexa asks.

“We can,” Abby says. “The kids explained what happened and we can replicate it here.” She smiles hopefully. “We can bring your people back.”

Lexa studies Lincoln another moment. “We accept your peace offering, Abi kom Skaikru.” 

Her mom lets out a relieved breath, but Clarke knows her commander, sees the trick behind her diplomatic words. She might have accepted the Skaikru’s terms but it doesn’t mean Lexa won’t demand her own. 

A threatening light gleams in Lexa’s eyes. “In return, you will give us the bagas that tried to kill Klark. With their deaths, we will have our peace.” 

Abby blinks in shock. “What? But you said – ”

Her pleas fall on deaf ears. Lexa is already striding from the room, leaving Gustus to deliver her ultimatum. “You have until dawn.” He looks at Clarke. “You will stay to ensure their cooperation.”

“That can’t be it!” Abby’s mouth is slightly agape as she watches them go. 

Clark nods numbly. Once again, she came so close only to lose it all in the last moment. She’d brokered a deal, offered Lexa something she wanted, only for the Commander to demand more. She closes her eyes as a sudden pain threatens to split her skull. No matter how much she gives, they always want more.

“Yu get in chit na kom au,” Lincoln says, his expression grave. _You know what will happen._

“Womplei kom thauz kodon,” she whispers. _Death by a thousand cuts._

“What are you saying?” Octavia asks. Her Trigedasleng is getting better, but not fluent enough to understand the conversation. “What will they do to those men?”

“Because she serves the heda, Clarke belongs to them, to every Trikru man and woman, girl and boy. Because she belongs to them, they will all have a turn with the knife.” 

“No,” Abby says. “I won’t surrender our people to be tortured. We need to think of something else they want.”

She calls in the Council to discuss a solution. Sinclair suggests a trial while Byrne argues for war. Denby emphasizes the thousands of soldiers gathered in the valley. 

Bellamy waits while Clarke paces. “Burke and Ferro tried to kill you, Clarke. We aren’t turning over innocent men.”

“That doesn’t matter. I won’t have them die in my name.”

“What about a trial?”

Clarke likes the idea of the trial but she knows Lexa will never agree to it. “Trikru justice is without mercy. Jus drein, jus daun.” Bellamy waits for her to translate. “Blood must have blood.”

He sighs. “So we turn them over.”

She sits down beside him and rests her head on his shoulder. “Or we go to war.” Either way, it’s more blood on her hands.

“You once told me that there’s always another way.”

“I’m all out of ideas.”

She closes her eyes to hold back the tears, unwilling to believe this is it, that after all she’s done it’s going to end with them slaughtering each other. For half a second, she contemplates taking Bellamy’s hand and disappearing into the forest. She knows how to live off the land. They could create a life for themselves far away from here. She knows it’s just a dream, but for that moment, it seems entirely possible. Except she knows Bellamy. He’d never leave Octavia and Clarke wouldn’t ask him to. It’s so much of why she loves him, his deep, unwavering loyalty to the people he loves. He would never abandon them to save himself.

But there are others that would, traitors that take more than their share, leave their homes and never look back. Men like Delano and Stefan. Men that have no place in this world. Men that have done terrible things and will pay for the rest of their lives.

She’s quiet while she mulls it over. She thinks Lexa will agree to her plan, but the Skaikru will be outraged. What she’s proposing is far beyond what they accept as justice, but there’s no other way. She hopes she has the right words to convince them.

She walks to the front of the med-bay and clears her throat, once then twice, and then she has Abby’s attention and her mom urges the room to be quiet. 

“I know what to do.” 

Clarke looks to Bellamy and he smiles encouragingly. He doesn’t like the plan either, but he’s in agreement that it’s their best option. 

“My people have a ritual when someone commits a crime like this. The criminals are banished from their village, shunned by all that share their ways. They are stedaunon keryon – dead souls.” 

Lincoln meets her gaze, his eyes filled with sorrow, but he doesn’t stop her. He nods, a slight flick of his head that tells her he supports the choice she’s making.

“There’s more,” she says carefully. “It’s more than banishment. One eye is removed so all that meet them will know what they are. No one will take them. They will bear the mark for the rest of their lives.”

The Council stares at her in stunned silence and even Octavia looks a little queasy. 

“If we do this, we’ll have peace?” 

“Abby, you can’t be serious – ” Sinclair starts but Abby holds up her hand, like Lexa only an hour before, and the room falls to quiet. “If we do this, will the Commander declare peace?”

“It’s our best shot.”

She wishes she could give a better answer, but it’s enough for her mom. “We’ll do it,” Abby says. Her voice is strong – resolute – even if she looks like she’s dying inside. No one protests, not with Abby’s anguish written all over her face. 

A strange feeling fills Clarke’s chest when she arrives at the Trikru camp to deliver the offer to Lexa. The familiar smells and sounds feel foreign and the proud sigils of each tribe seem threatening. She doesn’t have a place here anymore than she does with the Skaikru.

“Klark,” Lexa drawls once Gustus pats her down for weapons and leads her into the command tent. “When will the bagas be delivered to us?”

“I come with a different proposal.”

“Those weren’t the terms.”

“The crime was committed against me. I should choose the punishment.”

“Yu laik Leksakru,” Gustus snarls. “Yu no dula op sad in.” _You do not get to choose._

Lexa waves him away. “What do you propose instead?”

“Emo na ste stedaunon keryon,” she says, proud of how steady her voice sounds. 

A low murmur fills the tent, but Lexa looks intrigued. “If I agree to this, they will have to follow our ways.”

“Sha, heda. Trikru ways.” 

Lexa nods. “It is agreed.” She rises from her chair and faces her furious generals. “When the Skaikru bagas are stedaunon keryon, we will have our peace.” She looks at Gustus. “It will happen at dawn. You will wield the knife.”

Gustus bows his head but not before Clarke sees the excited gleam in his eyes, the honor he feels for serving his heda and carrying out the punishment. 

At Camp Jaha, her mother waits with Byrne and Sinclair in the meeting room, and while she understands that it’s a council matter, she wishes Bellamy could be there. Just seeing him would make her news easier to deliver.

“Well?”

“Lexa agreed. When the ritual is complete, we will have peace.”

Sinclair looks disgusted. “And two of our people will be tortured in the process.”

“They tried to kill my daughter!”

“We have rules, Abby. The Exodus Charter explicitly –”

“The Exodus Charter makes every crime a capital crime! The Exodus Charter sent a hundred kids to the ground to die, it took my husband…” 

“I thought we were going to do things differently.” 

It was Jake’s dream to give his daughter something better than what he had, to start over in the place where their ancestors made so many mistakes, and yet, here they are, facing their first trial, their first chance to be different – better – and they’re repeating the same behavior. 

The watch on Clarke’s wrist feels impossibly heavy as she addresses the council. “Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things. We can only do so much in a world shaped by war. When you have a lasting peace, then you can look to changing what you are.” She looks pointedly at Sinclair. “The Trikru will be here at dawn.”

She visits the med-bay next, hoping to finally get a moment alone with Lincoln. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to him, really talk to him, since Octavia brought him back. 

“Well?” Bellamy asks when Clarke comes over. He wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her into his side like it’s where she’s meant to be. She breathes him in and rests her head on his chest. It’s the only place she wants to be.

Clarke turns to the three of them and repeats her words to Abby. “Lexa agreed. When the ritual is complete, we will have peace.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Octavia says. She glares at her brother. “You know that torture is wrong.” 

Bellamy shifts uncomfortably and tries to shy away, but Clarke holds on to his hand, lets him know that she’s with him – all of him – the best and worst of who he is. She starts to voice those opinions too, but Lincoln gets there before her.

“If death has no cost, life has no worth. It’s how we live. The Commander must hold her army together – she cannot overlook this slight. The Skaikru killed three hundred warriors, massacred eighteen innocents…it’s a good deal.”

Octavia bites her lip, clearly torn between wanting to believe Lincoln and what’s in her heart. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”

He cups her cheek. “Not this time.” He leans in to kiss her and Bellamy clears his throat. Clarke nudges him to leave them be, but lets him tug his sister to her feet. 

“You haven’t eaten all day,” he says and steers Octavia out of the room, her protests fading as they near the exit to the med-bay.

Clarke takes Octavia’s seat at Lincoln’s side and leans in close so she can look directly into his eyes. They’re clear, warm and brown and tinged with gold – the Lincoln she loves. Tears pool in her eyes and they fall on his shirt as she throws her arms around him and buries her wet face in his neck.

He smiles at her, the bright smile he unleashes so rarely. “Stedaunon keryon – that was clever.”

She brushes the tears from her cheeks. “Blood must have blood.”

“But not an eye for an eye.” She laughs at his slip of the tongue and he laughs too, another beautiful thing she experiences so rarely. He regains his composure, his expression serious. “The price was high but you did well.” 

“Maybe one day we’ll win a war without fighting for peace.” 

Lincoln presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Ai wich in yu, Klark kom Trigedakru en Skaikru.” _I believe in you._

Octavia appears with two bowls of stew, eyes darting between Lincoln and Clarke. “What did I miss?” 

Clarke gets up and pats the empty bed. “Lincoln’s stomach wouldn’t stop growling.” 

Octavia looks unconvinced but takes the vacant seat. “Bellamy went home. I can take over from here.” Clarke doesn’t think the other girl is being rude so much as she wants to be alone with Lincoln, and she leaves them to have that time together.

She finds Bellamy cleaning his rifle in his tent, long fingers stroking up and down the length of the barrel. She swallows hard and ignores the desire curling in her belly. She can’t have those things, not tonight.

He smiles at her and puts the rifle aside. “We have a few hours until dawn…”

“Walk with me.” 

He frowns but he puts on his boots and jacket, straps the rifle over his chest and silently follows her to the gate. He stands by her side as they stare out into the sea of Trikru torches, the smells of cook fires and anticipation filling the air. 

She should be down there with them, eating dinner and sharpening her weapons, waiting at Lexa’s side while she prepares for the ritual. Instead she stands behind the fence and watches her people live their lives. And yet, if she turns the other way, it will be the same, the Skaikru going about their business as the hour grows later. It’s like the world is closing in around her even as she gulps down fresh air. She feels suffocated – trapped – she wonders if this is how Octavia felt her entire life.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks.

She turns her attention to the sky, so many stars shimmering in the dark night. “Does it ever get easy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Life. Does it ever get easy?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Lie to me.”

Bellamy pauses, eyes trained on the stars as he searches for words. “It’s terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true. The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies and everybody lives happily ever after.”

Clarke faces him, the constellations of freckles across his cheeks so much more beautiful than the stars above. “Liar,” she whispers and presses a butterfly kiss to his throat.

He cups her face in his hands. “I’d never lie to you. It might not happen today, but one day we’ll see the end of war.”

She smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, on the mouth this time, then settles back into the cradle of his arms. “Promise?”

He nuzzles her hair. “I always keep my promises.”

 

* * *

 

Dawn arrives, cold and dreary, with heavy gray clouds that threaten to burst. They match Clarke’s mood, the dark pall that hung over her head the entire night. In the distance, a horn sounds and she jerks awake, climbs to her feet to face the day. At her side Bellamy is slower to get up, absently scratching the back of his head to clear away his sleepy haze. 

He joins her at the fence, takes in the sea of Trikru torches glowing like fading stars in the pale light. Those torches shone bright all through the night.

“Did you get any sleep?” 

Clarke rubs at her sore neck. “A little.” 

“It’ll be over soon.” 

She nods, because truly, there’s nothing more to say. Soon, Gustus will demand the prisoners and the gruesome ritual will begin. She pulls her jacket tighter around her torso. She wants so much to hate those men for what they did but she only feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. There is little justice in the sentence she’s given them.

Gustus is wearing his bear mask when he arrives at the gate. It’s fashioned from the head of a grizzly he slew the year he turned fourteen, the animal’s gaping mouth exposing sharp, pointed teeth. Several of the Ark guards step back even though they have weapons and stand behind an electric fence. Even when he removes the mask, Gustus’s ferocious glare and imposing height keeps the guards at a safe distance. “I am here for the bagas.” 

He’s speaking to Byrne but looking at Clarke with piercing dark eyes. She meets his gaze, willing herself not to flinch. He’ll do the Commander’s bidding, but his dislike for her plan is clear, as is where he thinks the blame should fall.

Clarke doesn’t look away until Denby drags the two prisoners into the yard. Ferro shakes with fear, but Burke appears indifferent, even disinterested. Clarke remembers how comfortable he was with the ax – that blank mask hides the monster within. 

He doesn’t flinch even when Abby sends them off. “We will not meet again. I wish you luck.”

They will need more than luck to survive this ordeal, the blinding itself but also the aftermath. They will have one week to recover under a fisa’s painstaking care so they will live to remember the things that they did. But then they will be released into the woods without food or weapons. Their scars will keep any Trikru from helping them, the Azgeda too. Even they will avoid the taint of _stedaunon keryon_.

Ferro sobs softly as Gustus drags him to his feet. “Klark, yu na komba raun seintaim.” 

“Ai no laik gaf in.” _I am not needed_.

Gustus’ eyes burn with a fierce anger. “Disha laik kom yu. Yu na teik oso givness kom graun.” _This is for you. You will deliver our blessing to the ground._

“Honey, what is he saying?”

Clarke fights to maintain her composure. It’s bad enough that she has to be there, but she’s now required to participate. “They need me to complete the ritual.”

“That wasn’t – ”

“They’re my people. I’m not asking for permission.” 

Abby opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, pulls Clarke into a tight hug. “Be careful.” 

“I will, but I don’t need to be.”

Bellamy nods at her. “Good luck.” His warm gaze says everything she wants to hear: _I love you, I believe in you, I’ll be waiting_.

It stays close to her, the faith she saw in his eyes, especially when she stands at Lexa’s side. The army waits in wide circles that surround the clearing, five or six rows deep, wearing masks and stomping the earth with their booted feet. Their thirst for vengeance weighs heavily in the humid air. 

The prisoners kneel before the Commander. Burke wears the same stoic expression and but Ferro sobs softly. “Mercy,” he whispers. 

Clarke suppresses a wince. She understands his emotions, but Lexa will only see it as weakness, and because he is unworthy, she will cause him more pain to better match the suffering of her people. Burke says nothing at all.

Lexa is in full regalia, with warpaint smeared across her eyes and a graun-diyo glued to the bridge of her nose. She carries the Trigedakru gon-swis, the sword of her station, a sword carried into battle by every heda that came before her, and she appears twice her height when she addresses the prisoners.

“Yo don ge finga au trana kom frag op. Ai kru gaf in givnes kom yo led.” She pulls the sword from its sheath and touches the sharp tip to each man’s closed eyes. “Yo na gon we disha yo raun. Yo no gada in houm, no kru. Yo stedaunon keryon.” _You have been accused of attempted murder. My people demand a sacrifice for your crime. You will leave this place and never return. You have no home, no people. You are dead souls_. 

She nods and Gustus steps forward, his knife glowing molten and red as he tightly grips Ferro’s face in his hands. 

“Kom heda,” he says and presses the knife against Ferro’s eye.

Clarke looks away as Ferro screams and the smell of burned flesh surrounds them. Gustus will cauterize the wound as he cuts out the eye, preventing the victim from bleeding to death and reducing the chance of infection, but without sacrificing his trophy in the process. Clarke keeps her eyes averted while Burke silently seethes and Ferro sobs quietly, but she has to look up when it’s time for her part in the ritual.

Gustus holds out a bloody pouch. It weighs next to nothing but she can feel the two squishy balls cradled in the palm of her hand. She swallows hard to keep the bile down.

The army looks to her as she walks to the fire, raises the pouch high then lets it fall into the flames. “Kom Trikru kik raun, emo souda laik yuj. Na laik yuj, emo souda gad in jus.” _For the Trikru to survive, they must be strong. To be strong, they must have blood._

She opens the bag and lets the contents fall, listens to the hiss of bloody flesh catching fire. Across the clearing, Burke glowers with his one good eye. She can’t hold back the flinch this time. She just ended one war only to start another. It wasn’t by accident that Delano and his gang happened upon the dropship survivors. Ferro might fade away into the forest, but Burke will want revenge. 

Containing him will have to wait. The fire dies and the ashes are scattered and Lexa commands her to gather attendants for a trip to tonDC.

“I am not Skaikru,” Clarke points out. While she cares deeply for the people of her birth, her mother is their leader. She should lead the Skaikru entourage.

“You are our eyes and ears,” Lexa reminds her. “You will stay with them until I say otherwise.”

Clarke protests. “But we’ve already lost nearly a week.”

“You know our ways. The alliance must be sealed by the guest right.”

It’s only salt and bread, a simple exchange of goods, but the guest right is considered holy by all Graunkru. It means rival clans can treat without fear of attack, that there is honor between enemies. Clarke was there when Lexa finally brought the Azgeda into the fold, held her breath until Rowena swallowed her last bite of bread and declared peace between their peoples.

It’s pointless trying to change Lexa’s mind. “Sha, heda.” 

She already has a team in mind when she arrives back at Camp Jaha: her mother, Bellamy, and Octavia. Lexa ordered Nyko to examine Lincoln, so he’ll come too. Maybe Byrne or Denby for extra security. No one else. It will be hard enough keeping four Skaikru safe in a hostile Trikru village.

Raven is waiting when the small group crosses the yard to begin their journey. “I’m coming too.”

“Raven, this isn’t a pleasure trip,” Abby explains. 

“You need to work on the radio,” Bellamy adds. Wick came back from the Mount Weather mission with news – they can hear the Maunon’s communications through a single open channel – and ever since, Raven’s been working on narrowing the signal. It’s a vital piece of their plan for taking the Maunde, being able to communicate with the people trapped inside.

“I’ll work on it while I ride in the cart with Lincoln.” Raven pats the large pack strapped to her back. “You’ll have your damn radio.” 

“That’s not – ” 

Raven’s voice is razor sharp. “I deserve to see the place where Finn died.”

Clarke doesn’t have it in her to say no. She killed Finn, destroyed Raven’s life. The least she can do is let her say goodbye. She glances at Raven’s ruined leg. “Okay,” she softly agrees. “You can come.”

The walk is long and hot, the humidity raising the temperature despite the cool air. At the head of the column, Lexa and Gustus talk in low voices. They’re plotting something and it makes Clarke nervous.

“How much further?” Bellamy’s question startles her. He’s been at her side the entire trek but it’s the first time he’s spoken since they left Camp Jaha. 

“A few hours. We’ll be there by dinnertime.” He doesn’t respond, but she can read him well, the tick of his jaw revealing how he really feels. “You think this truce is a bad idea.”

“I think we’re wasting time with politics while our people are in trouble.” 

“We need to work together to get out everyone out of the Maunde. You know that.”

“Maybe, but the Trikru army has been getting its ass kicked by Mount Weather for forever. We need an inside man, someone to be our eyes and ears.”

She halts in her tracks, heedless of how it might hold up the line. “You’re kidding, right?”

He grasps her elbow and pulls her off the path. His expression has never been more serious. “If you could make it out, I can make it in.”

“I said no!”

His jaw ticks again. “Since I don’t take orders from you, I’m gonna need a better reason.”

“I love you,” she whispers, panic knotting tightly around her heart. “I lost you once. I can’t lose you again.”

The fight goes out of him too and he wraps his arms around her. She feels the knot in her chest ease. Being in his arms is her favorite place – it’s where she feels safe. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” He might own her heart, but she doesn’t own him. His decisions are his own. She can’t stop him if it’s what he truly believes is right.

Yet it weighs on her through the hike, and especially when they arrive at tonDC. 

“Heda! Heda! Mounin Houm!” her neighbors cry. _Commander! Commander! Welcome back!_ Despite their grief, many are smiling; since Costia’s death, it’s a rare occasion for Lexa to visit tonDC.

The mood changes when they spot the Skaikru amongst Lexa’s group. Egor steps forward, his face twisted with anger. He was a farmer before Finn’s Massacre, but from the way he grips his knife, he’s become much more gona in the days since. “Skaikru don jak etin op kom ai: ai houmon, ai yognon,” he snarls, pulls his knife from his belt. 

Abby pushes forward. “We come in peace,” she says, looks to Clarke to translate her words.

Lexa takes over instead. “Skaikru laik no mou bagas. Emo na sis osir au flosh kiln Maunde.” _The Skaikru are no longer our enemies. They will help us bring down the mountain._

With her permission, Gustus steps forward as well. “Yo breik au hukop na kof raun ai.” _Anyone that violates the treaty answers to me._

His great size is enough to send a clear message and the crowd falls back so the Skaikru can walk through the gates. They’re stripped of their weapons, Raven especially. She glares up at Gustus as he removes four knives from various parts of her person, and he looks no friendlier as he searches her pack.

The tension remains palpable, especially when Indra greets them at the entrance to the meeting hall. She wears her best armor, the kind that is for show rather than combat, and holds her head high as she takes in her nona’s birth mother.

“I am Indra kom Trigedakru.” She bows slightly. “The laws of hospitality are sacred to the Trikru. Here you are the guest and safe from harm for this night.”

It’s a strange speech, but one Clarke knows well. She was at Indra’s side when she welcomed Rowena kom Azgeda to tonDC for a similar meeting.

Abby pauses, so many emotions flickering over her face, then she crosses the short distance and takes Indra’s hand. “I am Abby, Clarke’s mother. Thank you for taking care of my child when I couldn’t.”

Indra looks to her nona over Abby’s head, a look of wonder in her eyes that only Clarke would recognize. “It was an honor.” Her voice is a little rough and her color is high when she extricates herself from the handshake.

Clarke joins them to help ease the awkwardness. “Osir laik hir kom hukop-givness.” _We are here for the guest right._

“Now it begins.”

Lincoln and Octavia head to the medical hut, but the rest of the group follows Indra inside. Food and drink are laid across the heavy table, with a small bowl of salt and a loaf of bread set out at one end, but it’s the man sitting at the other end that grabs the group’s attention, Abby’s especially. She lets out small cry then practically vaults across the table, runs to the man at a sprint and launches herself into his arms. Clarke’s reminded of Bellamy during their Camp Jaha reunion, the way the strange man holds her mom like she’ll disappear if he lets her go. 

“I thought you were dead,” Abby whispers, buries her tear-streaked face in the man’s neck.

He strokes her hair, presses a kiss to her temple. “I’m right here.”

Clarke stares at the display, both curious and a little grossed out. She nudges Bellamy. “You could have told me.”

He shrugs. “I figured you knew.”

She _should_ know, but in all the conversations she’s had with Abby since they found each other, her mom’s never mentioned a husband. And that’s what he is, a houmon, and even if he wasn’t holding Abby so close, the man’s wedding ring gives him away. 

“Clarke, honey, this is Marcus Kane – my husband.” 

He’s also the chancellor, the rescue mission her mom chose over Finn, but there will be time to discuss that later. Right now she needs to get through these introductions so they can get down to the hard work of planning a war.

Marcus holds out a hand. “Your mom’s been waiting a long time for you. I look forward to getting to know you too.”

She barely has time to agree before the door is thrown open and Lexa strides into the room. Her fierce gaze looks positively deadly with the warpaint highlighting the cool blue of her eyes. 

Lexa’s attention flicks to Marcus. “I see you have accepted our gift.” 

He smiles. “I thank you for our time together. It was a pleasure learning your ways.”

Abby pulls a frosted glass bottle out of her pack. “Please accept this gift, Commander. We drink this moonshine on special occasions and I believe this qualifies.”

“Thank you, Abby of the Sky People,” Lexa says and hands the bottle to Gustus. He uncorks it and inspects it curiously, sniffing at its contents and testing its weight in his hands.

“You’re welcome, Leksa kom Trikru.” She stumbles over all but Lexa’s name, but Clarke’s proud of her mom for trying. It shows that she respects her new partners, that she is a worthy ally.

“Let us drink together.” She gestures at Gustus to pour the moonshine. “Tonight we celebrate our newfound peace. Tomorrow we plan our war. To those we’ve lost and those we shall soon find.” 

She raises her glass as if to drink but Gustus interrupts. “Heda, allow me to drink first.” He doesn’t accuse the Skaikru so much as he lays suspicion that there could be something wrong with their gift.

Lexa nods and Gustus takes a small sip, grimacing slightly as he swallows the harsh liquid. Lexa again raises her cup but it doesn’t make it to her lips because Gustus collapses, white foam leaking from his mouth while he convulses on the ground.

“Poison,” Indra hisses. Two gonas drag Gustus from the room.

“This wasn’t us,” Marcus insists.

“You have to believe we came in peace!” Abby adds.

Clarke closes her eyes and wonders if this is to be the rest of her life. She remembers something her dad used to say, that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. How many times can her two peoples stand at the brink of peace only to fall into war? 

“Gustus warned me about you but I didn’t listen.” Lexa’s accusation snaps Clarke back to reality. Rudi is holding a small vial and glaring at a snarling Raven.

“That’s not mine! I’m telling you, that’s s not mine! The guard put it there when he searched me.”

Lexa’s cool gaze hardens to ice. “No Sky Person leaves this room. Klark, yu na kamp raun emo en dig au ridiyo.” _You will stay with them and find out the truth_.

There’s no door to slam, but a heavy silence still fills the room once the Trikru depart. Clarke slumps to the ground and cradles her head in her hands. However this horrible day ends, the only real winners will be the Maunde. 

“Clarke, what do we do?” Abby looks at her daughter like she has all the answers and it only makes her heart pound harder. They’re all counting on her to fix this and she’s run out of options. She ignores her mother and buries her head between her knees. “Clarke?”

Bellamy’s voice rumbles in the background then he’s sliding down next to her. He takes one of her hands and strokes slow circles across her palm with his thumb. “You aren’t in this alone. If we’re going to get out of here, we need to do it together.”

Slowly, she raises her head and meets his steady gaze. Those dark eyes haven’t let her down yet. There’s no reason to believe they will now. “Let’s figure it out.”

Raven is the most likely suspect. She sits at the far end of the room with her bad leg propped up on a bench and arms crossed over her chest, but it’s the savage look in her eyes that alerts Clarke’s suspicions. She’s made her feelings clear, both about the death ritual and Clarke’s acquittal. Plus, there was the vial in her jacket. 

Clarke wants to believe otherwise, but she has to ask. “Raven, I need to know the truth.”

Her head jerks up, angry tears glinting in her eyes. “I’d step back if I was you.” 

“I know how angry you are with me. If you tried to poison Lexa, I need to know.”

With great effort, Raven rises to her feet. “You’re the only murderer here.” 

Clarke doesn’t see the punch coming, stumbles backwards into Kane from the force of it. Raven is breathing heavily, her face contorted with pain as she shifts all her weight to her right leg, but she isn’t backing away. 

Bellamy jumps in before it gets more heated. “Tearing each other apart isn’t how we get through this.”

Kane agrees. “Lexa needs this alliance as much as we do. She’s shown herself to be flexible.”

“She thinks we tried to kill her,” Abby points out.

“But we know we didn’t,” Bellamy says. “So let’s figure out who did.”

“Who would want her dead?” Abby muses.

Raven scoffs. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Forming an alliance with the Skaikru was a risk, especially after what Finn did to this village.” Clarke pauses, rubs her sore jaw. “It had to be someone trying to break the alliance.” 

The tent flap rustles and Indra steps inside. Her eyes hone in on Raven. “Take her.”

“Wait! What are you doing?” Kane tries to get between Raven and the Trikru gonas.

“The Commander will see blood spilled for the attempt on Gustus’ life.” She gestures for the gonas to take Raven outside.

All Skaikru eyes shift to Clarke, beseeching her to do something. Much as she doesn’t want to take a stand against her nomon, they’re right. Raven shouldn’t be punished for something she didn’t do.

“Nomon, disha laik foto.” _This is wrong_.

Indra looks resigned. “Yu get in emo diyo. Jus drein jus daun.” _You know our ways. Blood must have blood._

They drag a screaming Raven from the room. “I didn’t do it! How is it justice if I didn’t do it?”

Clarke’s heart speeds up again, threatening to beat its way out of her chest. Another life is on the line and they’re all looking to her to save it. She sucks in a breath and tries to organize her thoughts. She thinks of Egor’s outrage and Gustus’s disgust. Even sweet Nena had glared at their group as they passed through the gate. They all had reason to sabotage the alliance, but only one person had access. 

Her gaze lands on the overturned goblet at Gustus’ seat. “I know what happened.” She hurries from the room, the others close at her heels.

The entire village is gathered in the square, watching as a healed Gustus ties Raven to the post. It’s where Petr was whipped so many years ago, where Clarke learned firsthand the depths of Trikru justice, but there will be no blood spilled today. 

“Stop!” Clarke cries just as Indra’s knife slices across Raven’s belly. Indra looks to Lexa for direction then puts down the knife. 

“Explain,” the Commander hisses. 

“May I?” Clarke gestures for Rudi to hand her the frosted green bottle. Without hesitating, she takes a healthy slug of moonshine, wipes her mouth and triumphantly faces the crowd. “The poison wasn’t in the bottle. It was in the cup.” 

“It was you.” Bellamy points to Gustus. “He tested the cup. He searched Raven.” 

“Gustus would never harm me.”

Even with her warpaint and armor, Lexa looks very much like a scared little girl. Clarke’s struck by how young she is, how much weight rests on her shoulders. Even the great Commander has moments when the responsibility is too much. “You weren’t the target,” Clarke says softly, trying to ease the blow. “The alliance was.”

Lexa looks a little like she’s been struck. “Yu don ge finga au, Gostos. Ron ai ridiyo op.” _You have been accused, Gustus. Speak true._

Gustus responds in English so the Skaikru will understand the extent of his sacrifice. “The alliance would have cost you your life, Heda. I could not let that happen.”

“This treachery will cost you yours.” Lexa’s voice is very small and she quickly turns away but not before Clarke sees the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Ai sad kiln yu kom womplei kom thauz kodon.” _I sentence you to death by a thousand cuts._

They quickly cut Raven down and tie Gustus to the same pole. Indra is the first to slide the knife through the muscles of his belly. The Skaikru watch silently as each willing Trikru takes a turn with the knife, slicing and stabbing away at Gustus’s flesh. Clarke closes her eyes. Despite her best efforts, blood is still being spilled.

When no others step forward, Lexa grips her sword and stands dry-eyed before Gustus. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” she says and slides the sword between his ribs, holds his gaze until his body falls slack and his eyes slide closed. She turns to the Skaikru. “It is done. Now we have peace.”

“Seriously?” Bellamy asks as Lexa disappears into the meeting hall. “Just like that, we start over?”

“The Trikru do not hold grudges. Gustus’s death means the debt has been paid.”

“And blood must have blood.”

“Yes,” Clarke says and follows him into the hall. “Blood must always have blood.”

 

* * *

 

The second attempt at a feast goes better than the first. If the alliance works, both Trikru and Skaikru will be able to bring their people home, so despite Gustus’s gaping absence, the mood is hopeful as they complete the guest right. 

After, the groups separate to bed down for the night. Abby and Marcus disappear into their tent, presumably to finish their reunion, and Bellamy heads for the medical hut. The drug is out of his system but Lincoln remains weak. He slept through the entire ordeal with Octavia by his side so Bellamy goes to fill them in.

Clarke stands at the fire in the center of the yard, in the same spot where they burned Finn and his victims, and contemplates the day’s events. The ground gives and takes in equal measure but she’s not naïve enough to think today was a victory. She tosses a twig into the flames, listens to the hiss and pop as it catches fire. Their truce is the same – one misstep and it could easily burn to ash.

Lexa comes to stand beside her. “You have been a loyal soldier, Klark kom Trigedakru.” 

Clarke shrugs. “I want our people back. I want peace.”

Across the yard, Bellamy steps out of the medical hut. His eyes lock with Clarke’s and she shakes her head, just a tiny tremble that tells him to let her handle this. He takes a seat by the cook fire and rests his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t look away from her.

“He is your houmon.” Lexa follows Clarke’s gaze to where Bellamy waits. 

“Yes,” Clarke says hesitantly. Her connection with Bellamy is special – sacred – and she doesn’t want to talk about it with Lexa. 

“I had a houmon once.” 

“I remember Costia.” 

Lexa’s voice is flat and devoid of emotion. “Then you remember what happened to her. She was captured by the Azgeda because Rowena believed she knew my secrets. Because she was mine…they tortured her, killed her, cut off her head.” She sucks in a pained breath. “I thought I’d never get over the pain, but I did.”

Clarke remembers that day, remembers in particular the hollow look in Lexa’s eyes. That was the day the girl died and the commander was born. She’s only seen a heda since. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Hodness laik kwelnes.” _Love is weakness._ “Love puts the people you care about in danger and the pain never goes away.”

“No,” Clarke says, surprised by the firmness in her voice. It’s the first time she’s openly defied Lexa. “Hodness laik uf.” _Love gives you strength._

“Den yu laik branwoda.” _Then you are a fool_. 

She dares lay a hand on Lexa’s arm, a gesture of comfort but also a warning – she’s done being the Commander’s pawn. “Ai na laik don gaf in kom sis em kru op houm.” _I will do what is necessary to bring our people home._

Lexa shrugs off her hand. “I hope you are right.” 

Clarke doesn’t watch her walk away, focuses instead on the broad man with dark curls sitting by the fire. 

“What was that about?”

She takes his hand and grips it tightly between her own. “Do you trust me?”

His forehead knots in confusion. “You know I do. Clarke, what’s going on?”

“I need to be strong.” 

“You are strong – ”

“You were right,” she interrupts. “Without someone on the inside to lower the Maunde’s defenses and turn off the acid fog, an army is useless.”

He tugs his hand free and uses it to cup her jaw, angle her face so their eyes lock. She tries to be strong, to hide her fear, but he sees through her the way he always does. “I thought you hated that plan, that I’d get myself killed.”

“All I think about every day is how we’re going to keep everyone alive, but to do that, it can’t be about me. I can’t ask you to stay because I’m scared.”

“Thank you. I know you don’t want me to go, but I need to do this.”

“Why?” She understands his loyalty to their people but there are others that could go in his place. Murphy. Marcus. Any number of Trikru warriors that have spent their entire lives studying the Maunon. He could stay at her side where he belongs.

He drops his hand and studies the fire. “That day in the woods with Atom, it should have been me. One of my people was suffering and I didn’t have the guts to help him. I wasn’t strong then, but I am now.” He smiles at her. “You showed me the way.”

It’s her turn to cup his jaw and curl her fingers over his stubbly cheek. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I have to prove it to myself. Do you understand?” 

She does, she doesn’t want to understand, but she does. It’s why she almost died getting out of the Mountain, because her sacrifice would have been worth it if it helped her people in any way. “I love you,” she says and seals it with a kiss.

“Ai hod yu in,” he says against her mouth. “How much time do we have?”

“A few hours, maybe less.” 

He tugs her to her feet. “Let’s make it count.”

They study her map of Mount Weather and confer with Lincoln to sketch a route through the tunnels. Raven still won’t talk to her, but she does limp into their tent, raving about something on the radio. 

They sit in hushed silence and listen to Jasper’s staticky voice. “The forty-seven are trapped in Mount Weather. Please send help.” 

“They’re alive,” Octavia breathes and Clarke lets out a strangled laugh. It’s the sign she was searching for, the faith she needs to believe this plan will work.

Raven gives Bellamy instructions for finding a radio inside the Mountain and establishing communication with the Ark, and Octavia gives her brother a long hug and then it’s just them alone in the tent. 

They do more than make the time count.

At dawn Bellamy stands with Clarke at the gate, her map safe inside his pack, and holds her close in the misty morning air.

She buries her face in his jacket. “We keep walking away from each other.”

“But we always find our way back.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object on a string, tips up her chin so he can slide the cord over her head. It’s the arrowhead she asked Lincoln to give him the night of the dropship battle. 

“You’re supposed to keep this until we reach the sea.”

He straightens the necklace. “We’re not going to the sea any time soon. You can return it after the Mountain.”

“Promise?”

When he kisses her, she feels it everywhere, her heart threatening to burst with how much she loves him. He whispers into her hair. “I always keep my promises.”

He lets her go and disappears into the forest. He takes her heart with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the VERY late update. I just started a new job that sucks up the majority of my time and this chapter’s word count is over 15K, making it the longest one yet. For those keeping track, Buffy and ASoiaF references at various points. Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Many years ago, when I still had time to read fanfiction, I stumbled across this “Veronica Mars” fic that reimagined a season one where Lilly Kane didn’t die. I’ve always wanted to try something similar, to take the major talking points of plot and character and spin them into a parallel universe that has the same outcomes but tells the story in an entirely different way. And so, despite having written half of the next chapter of “We Own the Sky,” I present an experiment in fanfiction writing.
> 
> Chapter titles courtesy of “Daredevil.”
> 
> The Night of the Falling Stars story courtesy of N. Scott Momaday – “The Man Made of Words” is a very powerful read.
> 
> Title and quotes courtesy of Alt-J. Enjoy.


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